


live once (once is enough)

by VivereLibri



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, One Shot Collection, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Serious Injuries, Siblings, Sometimes parenting is hard, hopefully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivereLibri/pseuds/VivereLibri
Summary: Feyre, Rhysand, life, and the family that comes along with it.Aka I wanted to write a post-canon fic and all my ideas so far involve children. WHoops.Chapter 15: Quiet moments near the end of Feyre's first pregnancy





	1. Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. My friends. My guys. I have so many other things to be doing, both in life and in terms of fic. I don't even want to look at When We Rise, because I'll cry and feel guilty.
> 
> BUT I recently finished ACOTAR and loved it. In the description, you can see that all I've thought of so far are fics about children. Yay, confetti and happiness! Except for coming up with names. Not fun. 
> 
> SO, /if you have suggestions or insight into naming these characters, hit me up/. I will take anything. Either someone helps me out, or they go unnamed, lol.

A soft tug brought Feyre out of the depths of sleep. Her body was cradled in something warm and soft, easily lulling her back into the star-filled depths of her dreams. Another tug, and soft caress. Slowly, she emerged to wakefulness. 

A hand brushed her cheek, and her eyes flickered open to meet a pair of violet ones.

“Mama!”

Feyre turned her head and grinned at her son, who had climbed on top of her so he could peer over her shoulder. “Good morning,” her voice was still hoarse with sleep. Satisfied that his mother was awake, the boy slid down her back, tumbling back down on the bed and crawling to the other side where his father undoubtedly waited. Feyre hissed as he unintentionally tugged on her long hair.

“Careful, Niphrym,” Rhysand gently chastised. She slowly turned over so she could see her boys on the other side of the bed. Rhysand was leaning against the headboard, one leg out and the other casually bent at the knee. It was a relaxed pose, but Feyre also knew he was conscious of his leg acting as a buffer so Niphrym wouldn’t fall off the side. Never mind that they’d both be fast enough to catch the child.

“Da-deeee.” Niphrym clutched his father’s bent leg, trying to hoist himself up onto his feet. Feyre chuckled, settling back into the bed with one arm bent under her pillow.

_Morning, darling_ , she heard the voice of her mate in her mind.

_Good morning,_ she replied, sending a flurry of images and feelings along with it. Over the decades, they had gotten good at this. A split second of choosing sights, sounds, smells, and emotions to convey a message instead of words. In a second, Feyre asked her question and got a response.

Niphrym had woken up early, as usual, and instead of getting him ready for the day Rhysand had brought them back to their bed. She sent back a small twinge of admonishment, but it was half-hearted. Feyre sighed, content as she watched father and son play in the soft morning light.

It was early enough that Niphrym’s nurse wasn’t on duty yet. As much as Feyre and Rhysand would like to spend every minute of the day with their son, it just wasn’t always possible. Still, they often took up much of the nurse’s duties. Feyre didn’t mind toting her son around with her when she was making her rounds around Velaris, and Rhysand was more than happy to keep an eye on the baby as he played on the floor of the study. She did feel a little guilty for spending money on a nurse that they didn’t need every minute of every day.

Feyre’s eyes had been drooping shut when she was startled by a playful roar. Rhysand lunged forward, reaching out his arms as if to grab Niphrym. It seemed like the toddler wasn’t prepared for that though, because he reeled back and immediately burst into tears. “Mama!” He wailed, spinning around and rapidly crawling over.

“You’re okay,” Feyre said as the little boy burrowed into her. She jerked back as Niphrym stuck his head in her neck, trying to avoid a collision between her chin and the top of his head. “Daddy was just playing, baby.” She rubbed his back, waiting for him to cry it out. It was early in the morning, so unless he had slept badly or was already hungry, Niphrym would be right as rain in a minute.

“Sorry.” She could feel the waves of regret spilling from Rhys. With a smile, she sent back her own assurance. _Don’t look so guilty. But maybe next time, hold off on bringing out the big bad Illyrian High Lord first thing in the morning?_

_A reasonable request. I’ll save that for our nights._

Feyre rolled her eyes, her attention going back to the toddler in her arms. “Come on, Niphrym, you’re fine,” she cooed, gently pulling him back from her. He went with a little resistance, face covered in tears and snot. She made a face. “Rhys, can you hand me-?” Before she could finish her request, a handkerchief was in front of her. She gently wiped away her son’s tears. Niphrym watched her with big, watery violet eyes, obediently still.

“Can you blow your nose?” She asked, holding the handkerchief to his nose. “Blow.” Niphrym only blinked back at her, batting away her hand. Feyre chuckled, trying again. “Blow, Niphrym.” She demonstrated comically, wrinkling her nose and blowing out air with a huff. Niphrym’s face screwed up too, but her just released air out of his mouth. With a click of her tongue, Feyre abandoned her efforts and finished cleaning her son’s nose. A noise of distress escaped the boy, but Feyre ignored him until she was satisfied.

The handkerchief disappeared from her hand, courtesy of Rhys. When she glanced up at him, he was beaming. A flurry of images and emotion came through the bond. The last minute of her interacting with Niphrym, a mixture of fondness and amusement and she tried to get him to blow his nose.

“Mama!”

Feyre’s attention was called back. “What is it, baby?” Niphrym patted her cheek, then became entranced with the long tendrils of hair spilling onto the bed. She kept one hand behind him as he sat, not because he couldn’t sit up by himself but because she just liked having him close to her. Safe.

“You just think your mom is pretty, huh, Niphrym?” Rhys chuckled, laying on his side and propping his head up with one arm.

“You think I’m pretty too,” Feyre shot back. “Don’t tease him.” She absentmindedly reached out and stroked his foot, and Niphrym fell back with a peel of laughter. Feyre giggled. “Are you ticklish?”

Niphrym sat back up, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek. Feyre jerked back, acting as if his touch tickled too. Again, Niphrym laughed. It never ceased to amaze her, how entertained her son could be with a simple game. They could lay in this bed for an hour, just the two of them, and Niphrym wouldn’t get bored.

Rhysand probably would though. “You want me to take him?”

Feyre frowned. “We’re fine right here, right, baby?” She leaned forward to blow a raspberry in his stomach, creating more delighted squeals. Through the bond, she felt Rhys’s touch of concern.

_You’re not tired?_ It wasn’t an entirely unreasonable question to ask. Fae pregnancies seemed to be more complicated than human ones on multiple levels. It wasn’t unusual for a female to take up to six months to recover her strength from giving birth. Feyre wasn’t up to her full strength yet, nearly a year after Niphrym was born. She might have dismissed the difficulties as random chance, but most people around her contributed it to the fact that Niphrym was the offspring of two very powerful fae. Not only had the pregnancy been difficult, filled with exhaustion and risks, but also the birth. The amount of magic that had been released that night couldn’t have been predicted by her or Rhysand. Either from bringing new life into the world, the bursts Feyre released in her pain, or the flares from Rhysand, all of their neighbors at the townhouse knew what was happening.

But a year later, Feyre was almost back to normal. She wouldn’t be fighting any battles, but she was more than able to perform her duties as High Lady. During her convalescence, she had stopped training. Her body certainly wasn’t as lithe as before, but neither she nor Rhys minded. This was the body that brought their son into the world, and was now providing for him. In time, she might gain back the hard muscle in her legs and definition in her stomach. For now, it was nice being a little…well, _soft_ again. 

It was still, early, but the sun was moving across the sky and the day would have to start soon. Feyre sat up, taking Niphrym into her arms. “I’ll try and feed him now, but let’s see if he’ll have his porridge if there’s some strawberries mixed in.”

Her attempt to brush aside Rhys’s concern didn’t work. She reassured him as she arranged Niphrym to nurse. _I’m fine, really._ A soft whine escaped Niphrym as the battle to get him to nurse began. Feyre could feel lingering concern from Rhys, but it dissipated as he climbed from bed. By now, their mornings were fairly routine. They took turns watching the boy as they got ready then walked to the bottom floor of the townhouse for breakfast.

The sounds of the city greeted them through open windows, letting in the cheery sunlight. Feyre watched as Rhys talked to the boy in his arms, narrating some story as they walked through the house. She paused in a doorway, taking in the sight. Rhys’s eyes sparkled, so similar to the ones her son had, and their black hair blended together. Seamlessly, Rhys set Niphrym down in his seat and began spooning porridge into a little bowl, never ceasing his chattering.

Ever since he had read that talking to babies was good for development, Rhys was never quiet. He would dig up an old story, either something from a book or personal experience. Sometimes, when it was late at night and memory failed him, Rhys would simply speak about family.

“Feyre?” She was jolted out of her reverie by Rhys. “Are you going to join us, or stand there all day?” 

She shook her head, but went to sit at the table. Niphrym’s nurse would be coming soon. She would have to leave to hear about the new difficulties of construction along the sea. Tomorrow, Rhys would be leaving for a diplomatic trip to the Day Court. Their lives were busy, but Feyre was grateful that she was able to snatch these moments of peace.


	2. hold the world to its best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What started as one scene in my head has now exploded into a world of headcanons, and dare I say it, /plot/. Heaven help me. 
> 
> A few quick notes. a) These one-shots are not in chronological order. b) I would love if y'all had suggestions for names, because I'm still floundering. c) You can find me on tumblr at bellamysfern. The url comes from the fic "Giving Incentive" by LaughingSenselessly aka @wellsjahasghost. I changed it as a joke and I'm literally so bad at naming things that I haven't changed it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one! Thanks to everyone who took the time to press that kudos button or leave a quick comment! Don't be afraid to let me know what you like-- and don't like. I'm playing it by ear, folks. 
> 
> Oh! And the rating went up because of language. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The faint sound of the clock ticking in the corner was the only noise disturbing the silence of the room. Its occupants had been waiting for hours. Conversation—and the will to talk— quickly ran out by the second hour. Niphrym would have been content to wait in silence, maybe with a glass of something strong to calm his nerves, but he had other responsibilities. 

Niphrym had already done this three times. His younger brothers weren’t so lucky.

“It’s taking forever.” His youngest brother squirmed in his seat, setting down the book Niphrym had offered an hour earlier.

Before the others in the room could take their own anxiety out on the boy, Niphrym spoke. “It usually does. Would you like to go flying to pass the time?”

The boy scowled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Then be _patient_.” Niphrym sighed when one of his other brothers snapped. He quickly diffused the situation and sent the youngest on a mission to retrieve books and paper.

There were decades between the brothers. Niphrym was the eldest, and he was already an adult when his mother got pregnant again. It was a tense time, for Feyre hadn’t fared well with carrying Niphrym. But she delivered another boy. And another, years after that. Then another. Now, she was giving birth to her fifth child.

While always expressing joy at a healthy child, everyone in the family was yearning for a girl by now. Niphrym knew his father would love a little girl and shower her with all sorts of affection. They all would, though his mother would probably protest that she was showing no favoritism.

Whether this child was female or not, he hoped Rhysand would take pains to make sure Feyre never got pregnant again.

A wave of power, accompanied by a BOOM, shook the room. After the first chaotic delivery, Feyre had chosen to give birth in the House of Wind instead of in the city. The rattling tea cups on the table were reason enough.

His brother’s errand was ill-timed. Being only eight years old, it was natural that the youngest was scared. When he came running back with arms full of drawing supplies and books, he was noticeably distraught. “Mama is going to _die_.”

That set off the already volatile brothers, but Niphrym let Aunt Mor handle it this time. And if she couldn’t, Aunt Nesta was stewing in the corner. Uncle Cassian would only egg them on.

“Come draw with me, honey,” Mor lead the child to a table. “Let’s make something nice to put up in the baby’s room, hm?”

Effectively free of responsibility, Niphrym went to the decanter in the corner to pour himself a drink. The second-eldest had already consumed a considerable amount, brooding in the corner as he was prone to do.

“Come to check on me too?”

Niphrym took a sip from his glass, not rising to the bait. “Just getting myself a drink.” He considered for a while before adding. “Try to keep your wits about you when you see our mother.”

“If she doesn’t die,” he said a little loudly, glancing over to where Mor was explaining how to draw butterflies.

Rise to the bait, or reprimand the comment that was clearly wrong and malicious? If his parents had a first child that was fairly well-mannered, if not a little mischievous, their second was a rebel in all forms. On bad days, Niphrym sometimes wished he went to the Illyrian Steppes and stayed there.

So lost he was in his own mind, he didn’t notice the air condensing and rippling with magic until it was pressing down, like swimming to the bottom of a lake. The pressure was overwhelming; breathing was like inhaling cloying air. Black tendrils of shadow snaked from the corners of the room, a darkness that neither Niphrym nor Azriel would be able to hold at bay. This was his father’s magic.

Niprhym exchanged a look with his brother, who instantly sobered up. Combined, they’d be able to protect the family if their father seriously lost control. Probably. Before Niphrym could say anything, another wave rocked the mountain accompanied by a scream.

“Fuck this,”

Niphrym was inclined to agree with his brother, and he followed despite the sounds of a crying child he left behind in the room. They ran down the halls, the steps of the third brother barely audible behind them. Purposefully just loud enough to let them know he was there.

As he ran, Niphrym could tell the damper on his father’s power had failed. Rhysand wasn’t bothering with a glamour. He couldn’t imagine how others in the room were feeling. His mother was obviously occupied, and likely countering with her own force. But for the midwives, for Aunt Elain, it must have been a lot.

Eventually they reached the birthing room, and Niphrym was second-guessing the shared intention among the brothers the simply burst in when the door opened. Aunt Elain stood with a smile, despite her haggard appearance. Behind her, the bed was cloaked in a cloud of black—but there was a white glow peeping out from the edges. She didn’t seem surprised at their presence just outside the door.

“It’s not over yet,” Aunt Elain warned them. “Give us another thirty minutes. But you have two baby sisters.”

The collective sigh of relief might have been a little comical. “And Mama?” Niphrym asked.

“Drained,” Elain winced. “But she’ll be alright. Full recovery.”

The frenzy now calmed, the brothers took more relaxed positions, sitting or leaning against the walls. Two sisters. Twins. Niphrym had known his mother suspected but…she made it sound like a secret. But there it was; the sound of _two_ babies crying.

_Come down,_ Niphrym called to the youngest. _We have two sisters._ The entire family had some daemati powers, though with varying degree. It was easy to communicate with blood. It was nearly impossible for the youngest to reach anyone else. Niphrym hadn’t dared explore the bounds of his own power yet, but judging by the looks his father had been giving him, more training would start soon.

The wait seemed endless, but eventually the door opened again. Aunt Elain stepped out, going over to their other aunts and uncles while the brothers flooded the room. It still smelled of blood, though the midwives had opened the huge windows and drawn the curtains. In the corner, they were still cleaning up. But everyone’s attention was on the bed.

Feyre looked like she was about to pass out, if not for the bundle in her arms. Three times he had done this, and yet Niphrym never got tired of the look on his mother’s face. Triumphant, happy, undeniably exhausted. But full of love, nevertheless.

Sitting next to her on the bed, Rhysand carried a baby of his own. His eyes were glued to her, though they would sometimes flicker to the baby in his mate’s arms. And though Niphrym had seen his father pleased with the other births, he’d rarely seen such unadulterated joy from his father.

“Come meet your sisters.” Their mother held out a hand to the youngest, who practically ran to the bed. Niphrym lifted him up so he could nestle on the other side of their mother and look over her arm to see the baby.

“She doesn’t look very cute at all,” he said. “What about the other one?”

Instead of reprimanding him, Rhys laughed. “Your sisters are going to be the most beautiful females in the world, just wait.”

“Would you like to hold her?” Feyre helped her son cradle the newborn, but Niphrym took over when he saw how her hand shook.

“You should rest, Mama.” He took in her drooping eyes, her hand that shook slightly. Rhys snapped to attention, and Niphrym knew they were having a silent conversation.

It was decided that they twins would be taken out of the room to be shown off a little before taken back in by Rhys. There was some complaining from the youngest, who wasn’t keen on leaving his mother. A few stern words from Rhysand ended the potential tantrum before it started.

“Come on,” Niphrym clapped a hand on his shoulder as they walked out of the room, the other arm full with a newborn. “After this, we can go home and start decorating the babies room. Weren’t you drawing butterflies earlier?”

It had been centuries since that last war. Though minor conflicts had popped up since then, this was a time of peace. His father had once told Niphrym that he used to feel guilty for the good times, for keeping any happiness for himself while others suffered.

“The world is never going to be perfect, Niphrym,” he had said, standing on a cliff that overlooked the snowy Illyrian Steppes. “But your mother showed me that it’s useless to beat yourself up about it. Find happiness where you can, and find a way to give your people that same happiness.”

Standing with family, welcoming new life into a world that could be unforgiving, Niphrym committed the moment to memory. The Night Court, all of Prythian really, had enjoyed peace for a while now. It might not always be that way, but Niphrym thought he understood. Remember these moments, and use them as strength to fight when all else has failed. He had not been tested the way his parents had—not yet. Something told him these were the moments that would give him strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a moment to comment would make my day!
> 
> You can find on tumblr @bellamysfern


	3. choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a thriving, y'all. Ideas for this story keep on coming. This has never happened to me before. I am so happy.
> 
> I have names for all the kids, who I have grown incredibly attached to. They will be revealed in the next one-shot. 
> 
> Friendly reminder that these are NOT chronological. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The gentle waters of the Sidra sparkled under the sun of a cheery spring day. Around them, merchants and artisans who had set up shop on the paths by the river sold their wares and chatted with anyone who stopped for a moment. Tantalizing scents from bakeries and restaurants farther up the bank were carried down by the gentle breeze. Niphrym saw and heard all of this perfectly fine, but he could not enjoy the day. 

“Do you want to go to the Court of Nightmares so distracted?”

His mother’s voice brought Niphrym out of his thoughts. He knew that neither of his parents would never delve inside his mind, though they were capable of it. His mental shields were as strong as theirs, but he had a feeling that both of them could smash through with some effort. Somehow, his mother could still tell when he was bothered, and more often enough she guessed what was bothering him.

“I need to go,” he said. “Father says I need to start getting used to them, and they to me.”

“It’s not like either of us are going to die soon.” Feyre grumbled, irritated. “And why are you mad at your father?”

Niphrym cursed himself, only now noticing his slip. He never called Rhysand “father,” unless he needed to maintain formality or some distance. His own eyes betrayed him, going to his mother’s pregnant stomach. He knew that she noticed, but she was content to let him sweat it out. They walked arm in arm down the street for another couple of minutes, only speaking when people greeted them.

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to be…nervous.” Niphrym finally broke the silence.

“Nervous? No.” Feyre kept walking, gazing at the artists that had set up canvasses to paint the river. “But you are angry.”

Niphrym sighed deeply. He knew his own feelings, had spent all of last night tossing and turning in bed to dissect them. “I am afraid.” He finally confessed softly. “And that fear is making me angry.”

His mother frowned. “You’re mad at me for getting pregnant again?”

“Not at _you_ ,” Niphrym looked down, scuffing his boot as he walked. “I know I’m being unreasonable—“

“Feelings are not rational,” she said softly. “Don’t try to make them so.”

“I’m more… mad at Dad.” He couldn’t meet his mother’s eyes. “I thought he would be careful enough—he would love you enough to make sure this didn’t happen again.”

By her silence, Niphrym could tell she was trying to think of a rational response rather than snapping at him. So he kept talking. “At first, I… I did think it was a mistake. I only just moved out…so...”

That got his mother to laugh. “Now that you got your own apartment, your father and I were free to have as much sex as we like?" 

He couldn’t resist making a face. “Ugh, yes.”

“But you know that isn’t true.” Feyre paused. He waited for her to speak again, but she took her time. Down near the path that was directly adjacent to the river, children were flying kites. Their shrieks of excitement and laughter were the sweetest sounds in the symphony of city noises.

“Your father didn’t want to risk it, at first.” Feyre stopped at a bench, and Niphrym helped her sit. “The fears that everyone has…they are not unfounded. But I am healthy and young. Your birth might have been hard, but it was my first.”

“This pregnancy hasn’t been easy either.” When he was a boy, Niphrym would tire himself out running through the streets of Velaris. Feyre had always said it was good exercise for her, but she was always able to keep up. His mother was not only a gifted High Lady, but also a capable warrior. Now, she had to take a break as they make their way to the Rainbow.

“It’s better since I know what to expect.” She frowned, trying to find the words. “I’m not saying it is easy, or even perfectly safe. But I want another child so much, and your father does too. Do you…do you not want a sibling?”

“Of course I would welcome a sibling,” he rushed to reassure her. “But… I don’t need one. I have cousins, and plenty of friends. And…you have me.”

Niphrym winced internally when he saw his mother’s eyes turn glassy. “Oh, baby.”

She hadn’t called him that in years, though it was her favorite term of endearment when he was child. Feyre leaned over to hug him around her pregnant stomach, and Niphrym obliged. “Careful, Mama, don’t make a scene.”

Feyre barked a watery laugh, pulling back and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “Insufferable child. This is why I wanted another.” The gravity of what she said hit, and she quickly backtracked. “You know that you are enough, right? We love you so much, and you are more than fit to be heir to the Night Court, and—“

“I know, Mama.” Niphrym put an arm around her. “It’s just…hard for me to accept that your desire to just have another child led you to take the risk.”

“This was my choice,” she said. “I’m not going to tell you that you have no right to be angry or nervous because that’s not fair. I’m your mother, too.” She raised a hand to cup his cheek and turn him to face her. “I have a responsibility to you before I think about having another child. But I need you to respect that this was my choice, and I am more that prepared to face the risks.”

Niphrym smiled wryly. There was his mother. Kind as always, but laying down the law. She was beholden to no one as High Lady of the Night Court. She was wife to the most powerful High Lord ever, but sometimes Niphrym wondered if she wasn’t in possession of more power.

He kissed her cheek, standing. “I know, Mama. Now, are we going to keep walking or should I carry you to the Rainbow?”

Predictably, she squawked indignantly and stood. “Let’s go. But you are buying me a fruit tart from that new bakery.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @bellamysfern


	4. hide and seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited I got these kids named, you guys have no idea. It was an exercise in writing to figure out that chapter where the twins were born.

From behind the thin curtain, Lysander stilled his movements and hardly dared to breath. The spring sun warmed his back—it would soon turn uncomfortable. If it were winter, the curtains would no doubt be a thicker weave of some sort of festive velvet print. Better for hiding than the gossamer ones he now relied on, but at least these hit the floor.

Lysander tensed when he heard the sound of bare feet on wood approaching him.

“Marcy, _wait_!” The pitter-patter of a child running through the house and into the room reached Lysander. He inhaled sharply.

Marcy made a sound of annoyance. “Mama told you not run in this room, Mel!”

“You didn’t wait for me!”

“Shh,” Marcy said. “I think I heard something.”

“I heard him ten seconds ago, you’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

Lysander was tempted to abandon his position behind the curtain, but he didn’t move as the girls bounded to where they thought they heard the noise—on the other side of the room. Marcy ripped back a curtain, revealing only empty air.

“He tricked us again,” Mel pouted. Lysander shifted his weight, and her ears perked up. He moved just a little more—and there! The girl ran over with a smile, ripping back the curtain.

“Found you!”

Lysander grinned, ruffling her hair. “And that evens out the score of three wins for both Meliora and Marcyllae.”

Marcy crossed her arms, frowning. “No fair, you cheated.”

The other girl ignored her twin, bouncing on her feet. “How did you hide behind the curtain? I couldn’t see your shadow.”

“One day, I might show you,” he tweaked her nose, leading the girls out of the room. “But for now, I think it’s time for lessons.” The chorus of groans and whining might have made him smile if he wasn’t in charge of the girls. Their parents were visiting other courts, and it was Lysander’s turn to babysit. He had learned long ago that an iron will was required to resist those two.

Right on time, one of the children’s many tutors knocked on the door of the townhouse. After getting the group set up in the dining room, Lysander ascended to the roof and took to the skies.

Like their parents, all of the children could summon wings at will. It took a great deal of learning and concentration to be able to master the skill though. They had to learn early, because flying lessons started when they were barely walking. And then when they were eight, they started training. If they hadn’t been able to fly by then, he doubts Rhysand would have allowed them to train in an Illyrian war camp.

His younger brother, Sahil, was there now. Lysander knew that a century before he was born, before Niphrym was even a thought, his parents had fought about sending their children to the Illyrians. Rhysand had reservations about the brutal atmosphere and necessity of training. Feyre thought that despite the methods, their children should learn Illyrian fighting. More than that, they should be able to command and fit into an Illyrian unit. In the end, Feyre won.

The majority of their training was done at the House of Wind, but every once in a while they’d take a trip to a war camp under the supervision of their father or Cassian. As they got older, they spent more and more time with Illyrians. It was their decision whether or not to participate in the Blood Rite. Niphrym, Vesriel, and Lysander had all completed it, but Sahil was still years away.

No one had dared ask whether Marcyllae and Meliora would train with Illyrians. But they were growing up, and sooner or later the decision would have to be made.

Lysander tensed when a figure appeared in the corner of his vision, but relaxed a second later when he recognized the shape. _Welcome back._

Instead of replying, Vesriel swooped dangerously close. Like a hawk descending on an unsuspecting song bird. The first decade of flying together, Lysander had always spooked when Vesriel came close like that. Now, he was wise enough to maintain his course. Even if his older brother did miscalculate and they crashed, Lysander was confident enough in his own winnowing abilities to feel safe.

And Cauldron help Vesriel if their mother ever learned his antics lead to their wings getting hurt.

The dive was Vesriel’s twisted way of acknowledging Lysander. Sometimes, Lysander tried to sympathize or understand his older brother. Being the second son to the most powerful Fae in existence can’t have been easy. A middle child in a large family full of gifted Fae was a difficult position to be in.

Although, Lysander was a _third son_ and he never had any problem.

But that’s just who he was. Quiet, unassuming, happy to be alone. From a young age, he was singled out to be Azriel’s protégé. While not possessing the same talents as the shadowsinger, there were still skills that Lysander picked up. He’d never be as good as Azriel, but he wasn’t too bad. Certainly fit to serve in his Niphrym’s court, one day.

Vesriel had always been different, and not in the way Lysander was. From the occasional story Lysander heard, it seemed like he had nearly ripped his way out of the womb, intent on being contrary and battling against the world.

There’s not much to work with when someone had that attitude. When the twins were born, it seemed like everyone held their breath. How was Vesriel going to treat them? No one would really know until Mel and Marcy were older; it’s not like Vesriel tormented Lysander when he was a child under the watchful eye of their parents and his older brother was a full-grown male. But so far, the twins only inspired cool disinterest. He minded them when needed, which wasn’t all that often. Combined with spontaneous trips to Cauldron knows where and the availability of more willing caretakers, Vesriel was rarely in charge of the twins.

Good riddance.

Another figure popped up next to Lysander, startling him a little. Niphrym winnowed right next to him, spreading his wings a second later. _I can almost feel you stewing._

Lysander tried to put a damper on his thoughts. He was the calm, collected, patient one of the family. _I can’t help a little irritation every time he tries to knock me out of the sky._

_Ever going to tell Mama about that?_ Not their father. Feyre would rip into Vesriel, but Rhysand might very well rip his wings off.

_And admit defeat? Are you insane?_ Lysander shook out his wings a little, taking a deep breath. Communicating like this was not his strong suit. It came easy to his parents, who had an organic bond. Niphrym was naturally gifted. Vesriel…he was Vesriel. But Lysander had trouble taking down mental walls once they were built, and communicating took a great deal of concentration.

_Vesriel beat me back,_ Niphrym started explaining, knowing the questions his brother wanted to ask. _Had to track him down in some tavern. Acted and smelled drunk, but he’s not._

He’d better not be. They had a family dinner tonight. It was the first time in weeks everyone was going to be in the same place. Sahil and Cassian were even flying in.

Masquerading as a drunkard in the middle of the day? What was Vesriel playing at?

Niphrym brushed a wing against his. _There are some things we are never going to understand._

Lysander nodded, banking sharply away from Niphrym. His brother got the message, and quickly relayed that he was heading back to the townhouse. Mel and Marcy’s lessons would be ending soon, and they would have to be wrestled into clean clothes and brought to the House of Wind. Best to let Niphrym deal with it, even if it was his fault they had gotten dirt on their dresses after playing in the garden.

Lysander swooped down close to the waters of the Sidra, gazing at the evening sky reflected on the water. If he wove through the city, he’d get waves and attention. While he wasn’t hostile to recognition, Lysander preferred to be alone. Unseen. Watching his city from afar and enjoying all it had to offer with some detachment. But that’s just who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a minute to leave a quick review would brighten my day!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @bellamysfern


	5. a suffocating legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”
> 
>  
> 
> ― Mitch Albom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HOLD IT RIGHT THERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> If you are at all interested in having your heart //ripped out of your chest//, I suggest listening to Raddir by Ólafur Arnalds as you read. It's on youtube. The one with the choir. 
> 
> I highly recommend it, as I think it adds to the reading experience. 
> 
> Carry on.

He was drowning. 

Air did not fill his lungs. His bones were cracking under the pressure. His skin felt too tight—too loose?—on his face. Without air, there was no way to scream for his parents. Without movement, no way to claw to the surface.

A hand clamped down on his arm. Salvation. Until the grip became tighter, until his shoulders were being pinned down.

His head swam. No air no air no air. He was going to die. His magic was failing him—magic. Why wasn’t it working? He felt it all around. Around and inside. Tearing him up. His body was too small, his mind too fragile.

“He’s awake.” A voice, familiar but panicked.

His blood boiled, his skull cracked. Lashing out didn’t help, but he couldn’t stop thrashing. The last cries for help from a desperate boy.

“Do it.” Another voice, the one that should have soothed him.

Was this one last push from his body, one last burst of life that allowed him to see and feel and hear and speak again? He cried out, aware of flailing limbs that weren’t quite his own.

“Do it now.”

“Feyre…”

By the Cauldron it _hurt_. Let it end, let it end, let it end. Mama, end it. He cried out for her.

“DO IT NOW, RHYSAND!”

And then his body was not his own, his mind was somewhere else. Hands gripped him, but that was not what was keeping him stationary. Another mind, familiar but foreign and not completely welcome, was in control. He wanted to cry, but his lungs were not his own. They forced him to breathe deeply, slowly.

“Shh, open your eyes, Vesriel.” He couldn’t. “It’s okay now. Open your eyes. I’m here, sweetheart.”

“Mama,” the noise spilled from Vesriel’s lips before he registered that he had control again.

“Shh, that’s it.” She stroked his hair back. “I’m here, Vesriel, open your eyes.”

So he did. His mother lay next to him, her arms wrapped around his small body. His father held his hand, kneeling next to his bed. Around them, the night sky filled the room. His father’s power, and some of his mother’s. The very power that choked him.

Sobs wracked his body, and he turned into the comforting embrace of his mother. “It’s too much.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Oh, Vesriel. I know. You’re so brave, sweetheart. So brave.”

“I’m not!” He cried. “I can’t do it.”

His father scooted closer, rubbing his back. “You can. And we’re here to help you.”

“I don’t want to.” Vesriel sobbed. “Take it out! I don’t want it! Take it out! Give it away!” He squirmed, feeling the power welling up inside him again. He was too small, he was too weak to receive such power. Give to someone more worthy, give it to someone who wanted it.

Feyre banded her arms around him, holding him almost uncomfortably close. “I can’t do that, sweetheart. Focus on something else. Deep breaths, remember?” Her chest rose and fell, and Vesriel made his movements match hers. Breathing helped, and being surrounded by his mother’s scent was calming.

“Look up, Ves,” his father said. Vesriel peaked up at the stars dancing around his room. Constellations coalesced, turning into animals and fae and humans dancing through the sky. The hand that his father held—it was drawing away some of the pain. “Look. This is what your power does.”

Feyre pulled back just enough to set Vesriel on the bed. “Sleep now.”

He missed the look shared between his parents, and the wince on Rhysand’s face as he fell into darkness.

~*~

With Vesriel put back asleep by Rhysand, Feyre tried her hardest to stay quiet. But it had been so close tonight. The weight of the magic in the air that was ripping its way out of their son was nearly unbearable. She has barely been able to fight through it.

Enough people said that their children would be unnaturally gifted. No one ever mentioned anything about their bodies—their minds—not being able to handle the gifts.

Rhysand was still awake next to her, but she didn’t spare a word as she got up from bed and bolted to the roof. Once she was there, the black expanse of stars above her, she allowed herself to cry.

_Feyre_

“Don’t,” she shook her head. “I know, I know what you’re going to say and that you’re going to try and comfort me but—just don’t. I’ve heard it all before.” She wanted to pull her hair out, to scream to the sky, to dive into her son’s mind and hold him as the power _she gave him_ tore him apart on the inside.

Rhysand didn’t try to say anything more. He just surrounded her, body and mind, and let her cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did the music help? Idk, it made me a little more emotional.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter or...I guess not enjoyed but appreciated it, let me know in the comments!
> 
> ALSO my main tumblr is bellamysfern, but you can find more book specific stuff on @thehaemanthus.


	6. tell me something happy before i go to sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for a couple of days all I wanted to write was Vesriel (I have sooo many ideas). I have a completed one-shot for him, but I wanted to space it out, you know? Poor Sahil hasn't gotten any "screen-time".
> 
> Alas, this chapter is about Lysander, not Sahil. And the next will be about Vesriel. But if there's anything you'd like to see, let me know. I'm going to try and work on the Big Family Dynamics, but I'm still putting that together in my head. I also have more baby/toddler fluff, because that's what I'm like.
> 
> The title is from an old children's book that I remembered the other day, for some obscure reason.

The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that filled in townhouse. Velaris was sleepy, its residents quiet. The sitting room was illuminated by the glow of the fire, providing just enough light for Feyre to read by. 

Her ears caught the sounds of creaking from upstairs, and then the thump thump thump of feet plodding downstairs. She closed her book with a sigh, sitting up. “What’s wrong, Lysander?”

Her son rounded the corner, rubbing one eye. “I’m not tired.” Clearly he was, but his rumpled pajamas and the short black hair sticking up awkwardly told Feyre that he had been tossing for a while. 

“Come here.” She held out a hand for him, and he shuffled over to squeeze next to her in the armchair. “Are you sure you’re not tired?”

“I’m not!” He turned to look at her. “I swear, I’m not.”

Feyre nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. I believe you.” Better he sit with her and fall asleep than get into an argument about it. It had been a long day, and Rhys was on an extended trip with some other High Lords to the human realms. The last thing she wanted to do was end this day in a fight with Lysander. She was content to relax in front of the fire until her son fell asleep, but he had other ideas. 

“What are you doing?”

She held up the book that she had been reading. “Just reading.”

“What’s the book about?” Lysander twisted to read the cover. “Can you read it to me?”

Feyre hummed. “It’s part of a series that some librarians put together for me on Night Court history. This one is about the Illyrians.”

Despite the boring topic, Lysander perked up. Feyre chuckled at her son. “Maybe I’ll get it to be included in your lessons. It’s not a happy bedtime story.”

Her son scowled. “I’m not a baby.”

“I never said you were.” Feyre said patiently. “Try and rest. Just close your eyes.” She ran a hand through his hair once, and then wrapped it around him and tried to remain still. She knew all sorts of tricks to get her young children to sleep. Niphrym was the one who had liked to be rocked and hummed to. Vesriel liked it when she ran her hands through his hair. But Lysander would be lulled to sleep only when it was quiet and still. 

Her plan didn’t quite work out. Although Feyre was perfectly still, Lysander wouldn’t stop his twitching. 

“Mama?” He finally broke the silence after a while. 

“Yes?”

“Am I dumb?”

Feyre sat up, looking down at her son with a frown. “You’re not dumb. Why would you say that?”

Lysander sighed, long and suffering as if it was a chore to have to explain the whole story to his mother. “Well, at training some of the others called me dumb because I don’t answer questions. So I asked Vesriel, and he said if I didn’t answer the questions than I must be dumb.”

Feyre sighed, mentally making a note to talk with Vesriel. “Why weren’t you answering the questions?”

“I dunno.” Lysander played with the hem of her shirt. “I just didn’t want to.”

“What questions were they?” 

“We were being tested on the proper care for a blade.” Lysander mumbled. “I know how to care for my blades. Uncle Cassian showed me.”

“Uncle Cassian shouldn’t have given you any blades yet.” Another matter she would have to address. “Were they asking the questions to the group, and you just didn’t answer?”

“Yes!” Lysander said. “Other people answered, though they didn’t always get it right. Anyway, after our training was done, that’s when the others called me dumb. Because I never answer questions. But I just don’t want to.”

Feyre hummed, gazing into the fire. While she thought, Lysander yawned and leaned into her. He was her quiet one, not speaking unless there was a reason to. That wasn’t a bad thing, but she could see where it might be a source for teasing. 

“Silence isn’t always a bad thing.” She began, intent on finding a way to soothe her son’s concerns and put him to sleep. “Because you’re so quiet, your father and I don’t mind taking you with us when we have business. It may appear like you are not learning because you don’t say anything, but you’re listening the whole time.

“Remember, just a few weeks ago, when we visited the Governors of Velaris? I talked about so much with them that I couldn’t remember when we agreed to meet again. But you were there, and when I asked you, you had remembered everything.”

Lysander still looked dubious, so Feyre strung out her tale. “Though, silence isn’t always the best thing. When you were five, we took you to the docks. There was a small festival going on, and we lost track of you for a second. I looked around, and you were just gone. In a minute, everyone was looking for you. Turns out you had gotten knocked off the pier, but instead of calling for help you just swam to a ladder and climbed out yourself. We found you shivering on a dock, still silent.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t be quiet, otherwise you’ll forget about me?” Lysander looked up, eyes watery. 

Feyre rushed to reassure him. “No, of course not! But…when we need help, we don’t need to be silent. And I could never forget about you.”

She launched into a final story, hoping this one would finally put him to sleep. “When you were born, you wouldn’t stop screaming. I was so worried—everything seemed to have gone okay but you were just screaming and screaming. Everyone told me you were fine, but I didn’t believe them. You were like that for hours, until you finally tired yourself out and fell asleep. And when you awoke, you were quiet. Still cried, but not loudly.

“I was even more worried then. For weeks I would lay by your crib, wouldn’t let others come near. I just waited, listened to your breathing and dreading it would stop for some reason I couldn’t control. But you were okay, just quiet.

“And now I know that when you were born you screamed so loud that I would never forget. You let the world know you had arrived, gave it one warning. Because after that, they would never hear you coming.”

Lysander murmured, sleepy. “I’m not sure that’s a happy bedtime story.”

“It is to me.” Feyre kissed his forehead, and then stood and picked him up. “Come on. You can sleep with me tonight.”

When Lysander’s breaths evened out and moonlight streamed through the cracks in the curtains, Feyre stayed awake. She listened to him breathe. The terror she had felt when Lysander was born was a memory, made a little fresher by retelling the tale. But he was here, and he was fine. 

After Vesriel, she had been overly cautious with everything. She had almost smothered Lysander until Rhysand had put a stop to it. She needn’t have worried; Lysander was fine. Nevertheless, she lay a hand on his chest to feel it move as he slept. 

He was here. He was breathing. That’s all she could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a quick review if you enjoyed! Your favorite line, an opinion, if I made a spelling error. It makes my day!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @thehaemanthus, which is my book blog. @bellamysfern is my main but....it's mostly a place for shitposting these days.


	7. boil over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been commenting, giving kudos, or simply reading! These one-shots are something I enjoy doing (a guilty pleasure maybe, in writing scenarios that probably are unrealistic. I mean, six kids??) but it's nice to know that someone else is enjoying as well.
> 
> So this is another Vesriel one, then I'm going to try and get a Feyre/Rhys one pre-kids. Or a few of those. I have some ideas, and was considering publishing them separately but. We'll see what happens. I got a Sahil one-shot in the works though! My poor baby boy was being neglected. 
> 
> But yeah, seeing as this is another Vesriel one, it's not going to be sunshine and rainbows. See the note at the bottom for more.

“I wish you would stop worrying.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“…you know what, I’m not having this conversation with you again.” Feyre sighed, tuning out Rhys as she struggled to get Vesriel dressed. The two-year-old seemed to have picked up on his father’s mood and was feeling particularly squirmy.

“No, Mama.” Vesriel pushed her away, kicking and probably minute away from a tantrum. “No!” She had heard that “no” was the favorite word of all young children, but Vesriel seemed to have a particular affinity for it.

Feyre steeled herself, holding the sweater in one hand with the other poised to wrestle with Vesriel. “You need to put on a sweater, because we’re going out and it’s going to be cold.” Then she pounced on him, tugging the sweater over his head.

Sometimes Feyre thought if she was a better mother, her heart would break every time she forced Vesriel to do something he didn’t want to. But the only emotion she could muster was annoyance. Still, she had enough wits to talk to him. “I know. I know you don’t want to wear the sweater, but it’s cold. I know that you are saying you don’t want to wear it, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

Big, fat crocodile tears streamed down his face, but once Feyre got the sweater on, Vesriel couldn’t do anything. She watched as he flung himself onto his back on their bed, rolling around a little in addition to his screaming. He could have a future in acting.

“Don’t,” she rounded on Rhys, who looked tortured. “It’s fake crying. Ignore him and he’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.” Taking her own advice, Feyre got dressed and sat at her vanity to do her hair.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go.” Rhys said. “Ves clearly doesn’t want to.”

“Ves is a toddler who didn’t sleep well last night.” Feyre said. “If all goes well, then he’ll be knocked out after lunch and sleep for a good three hours.” She kept an eye on Rhys in the mirror. He was dressed in the dark Night Court colors, but much less formal than usual. At the moment, he was standing in the corner of the room looking out the window, but his eyes strayed.

_Don’t do it_. Feyre was too late. Vesriel’s crying had tapered off a little, but as soon as Rhysand’s eyes had gone to the bed the wailing started up again. Rhys picked up Vesriel, murmuring comforting nonsense. The toddler cried a little harder, hand fisting in Rhys’s tunic and burrowing closer.

Feyre scowled. “Oh, so I’m the bad guy?”

“You did force him into this sweater.” Rhys said.

“The sweater is adorable,” Feyre protested. It was fuzzy and gray and Feyre wished it had come in her size. But she’d have to make do with her own tunic, thick leggings, and coat.

Once the coronet of braids on her head was complete, Feyre stood to leave. Rhys and Vesriel had contented themselves with playing with shadows while they waited. Vesriel had miraculously stopped crying, but Feyre still ran a handkerchief over his cheeks.

“Mama, no,” he began protesting again.

“Okay, I’m done.” She pocketed the handkerchief, not wanting to risk another tantrum.

Rhys held out his unoccupied hand for her. “Don’t worry, I’ll think he’ll get over the sweater.” He winnowed them before Feyre could protest.

As usual, it took her a moment to acclimate to her new surroundings. The air was cooler here, and with the wind it had a bite. A river snaked past a large farm house, trees lining the banks in a colorful grove. Amber fields stretched out far beyond the house. But closer to them, several wooden tables with benches were covered in table cloth and occupied.

“Rhysand, Feyre.” They were greeted by their host, Helion. “And this must be Vesriel.”

“Thank you for having us, Helion,” Feyre smiled. “This is beautiful.”

“Of course.” He started ushering them towards the rest of the guests. “It was my turn to host anyway. And it’s time for my son to start associating with this crowd.” Talking to Tarquin—and looking extremely uncomfortable— Lucien stood in the middle of the small gathering. The truth of his parentage had not come without some strife, but Helion had eventually accepted his son. At the moment, it looked like Lucien would be heir to the Day Court, but no one could tell for certain yet. It could turn out that Helion married or found a mate and had other children.

“There he is!”

Feyre smiled as Viviane shot up from her seat and practically ran towards them. “So this is Vesriel! Oh, he’s as cute as Mor said.”

Unsettled by the activity, Vesriel turned his face away into Rhysand who chuckled. “Careful, Viviane. He’s already mad at Feyre.”

She scowled. “No, he’s not.” Why was she the bad guy for wanted her son to be warm in the cold autumn weather? To prove her point, she reached out for Vesriel. “Come here, Ves, Daddy is only going to have dull conversations with boring old males.”

Feyre wasn’t above admitting that it was very satisfying to have Vesriel go into her arms willingly. As she predicted, Rhys was drawn away to talk with Helion and Kallias about some stirrings on the continent. Normally she would have joined, but Vesriel was a little restless. Besides, they also had someone new to meet.

“This is Matthias.” Viviane sat down next to a little boy with snow white hair. “Can you say hi?”

“Hello.” He warily took in Feyre and Vesriel.

She just smiled and took the seat across from them, setting Vesriel in her lap. “Hello, Matthias. My name is Feyre, and this is my son Vesriel.” She prodded the boy in her lap a little so he would look up.

“I wish you could have met him earlier.” Viviane sighed. “But Kal was so worried. Overprotective males, you know?”

Feyre smiled tightly. “Right. I thought Rhys would be better with our second, but—“

“Oh, I know! Niphrym was six before we got to see him! Where is he, by the way?”

“He decided to spend some time touring our northern territory.” Feyre said. “Just to really try and integrate himself a little. He’ll be there for a couple of years.”

They chatted for a while about small things. Around them, High Lords and their immediate families—if they had any—mingled. No guards, no advisors. These kinds of intimate gatherings were hard to put together, but after Hybern everyone had wanted to put forward a little effort. Decades later, these informal meetings were still going strong. They only happened every few years, but it was a good way for the rulers of Prythian to meet in an informal setting. More intimate connections were formed here, bonds of friendship that could not be easily broken.

Most of the males around them discussed court politics or business, while Feyre and Viviane chatted about the recent news in their lives. “So, of course I told Kal that he couldn’t take Matthias out on the ice—“

“I could have gone!” The boy protested, but it was clear he was growing tired of the adult conversation. “Mama, I’m hungry.”

Viviane frowned sympathetically, running a hand through his hair. “We have to wait until everyone is here, Matthias. It’s rude to start early.”

“Who are we waiting for?” Feyre dodged Vesriel’s wandering hands as he tried to tug on an earring.

Viviane cast a look around. “I think it’s just Tamlin. You don’t think Helion would mind if we just got food for the kids?”

Vesriel abandoned his quest to rip Feyre’s earring off. “Food?”

“Not now, Ves,” she said, holding out a hand so he would play with her fingers instead. Hopefully the ring and her painted nails would be shiny enough to keep him occupied.

But like Matthias, Vesriel wouldn’t be deterred. “Want food.”

Feyre sighed, exchanging a look with Viviane. She was about to stand to find their host, but Helion found them first. “I heard some children were hungry.” He winked at them, and then pulled out two small cakes from thin air.

Vesriel was squirming in her hold, stretching out his hands to get the treat. Feyre reached out to take it, holding it in her palm so Vesriel could eat. “Thank you, Helion. But really? Cake before lunch?”

Across from them, Matthias was digging into his own cake. Viviane sighed, propping her chin up on her hand. “We have to pick our battles, Feyre.”

“Don’t I know it.” she muttered.

“Tamlin should be arriving soon,” Helion said. “But if he takes too long, I’ll have lunch served. He knows what time he’s supposed to be here.”

Not a second later, the elusive High Lord of the Spring Court appeared at the edges of the party. Helion went to greet the newcomer, and in a minute everyone had taken their seats and lunch was being served.

“How are you doing, Ves?” Rhysand plucked the toddler off Feyre’s lap, conjured a cushion to place on the bench, and put him down between them.

“Cake, Daddy!” Vesriel held out a sticky hand, very pleased with himself and catching the attention of the rest of the group.

“I see,” Rhysand cleaned Vesriel’s hands with a napkin. “And it looks like you made a mess. At least you enjoyed yourself. Did you thank Helion?”

Feyre pointed towards the High Lord of the Day Court. “Can you say thank you, Ves?”

“Thank you!” He cried, then focused his attention on the plates in front of him. “Mama, beans.”

Feyre scooped some of the green beans onto his plate, relieved to find a food she knew he liked. “That’s right. At least you like to eat your vegetables.”

She spoke too soon. Vesriel took a look at the green beans, made a face, then took a handful and dropped them on the ground. The others at the table looked away, trying not to laugh.

“Vesriel,” Rhys scolded. “We don’t throw food. If you don’t want something, you say no.”

The toddler looked at his parents, both wearing similarly stern expressions. Feyre didn’t miss the others trying to keep a straight face. When Vesriel looked back at her, she gave him her best “displeased” face. His head whipped back around to face Rhys, who was the softer target. Then his hand went back to the plate.

“Vesriel,” Rhys said, voice pitched low. “Do not.”

Still staring at Rhys, Vesriel took another small handful of beans. Rhys raised an eyebrow. And then Vesriel flung the food to the floor.

“That’s it.” Rhys stood, picking up Vesriel who immediately started screaming.

Feyre sighed, resting her forehead in her hand and closing her eyes. _He’s tired and hungry. Don’t be too harsh._

_I know. We’ll be back as soon as he’s ready to apologize._

A dull ache appeared between Feyre’s eyes, and she rubbed the spot in hopes of alleviating the approaching headache. Vesriel hadn’t gotten much sleep last night—which meant she hadn’t either. Even at two, he couldn’t sleep through the night. Rhys and Feyre traded off who took care of him since someone had to be alert enough during the day to handle their duties. Some nights were worse than others. On good days, Vesriel would wake up once and it would only take some soothing words to get him to sleep. On bad days, they would be up all night trying to calm him.

For the really bad days, they resorted to using magic. But there was danger in using it as a crutch. Their powers were helpful, but there was no way Feyre was going to rely on them to take care of her children.

“Feyre?”

She glanced up, forcing a smile on her face. “He’s been acting out lately. He’s…just at that age.”

Next to her, Lucien frowned. There wasn’t much he could say at a gathering like this though, so he changed to a safer subject. “How is Elain?”

Years ago, Elain would have been the opposite of a safe subject. Now, they were more comfortable with each other. It had taken a long time for Elain to rediscover herself and become comfortable as High Fae. But time was good for her. After figuring out who she was, Elain was willing to figure out who she might be with Lucien. There were no guarantees or expectations. Only a possibility.

Feyre latched onto the change in conversation, chatting with Lucien and the others at the table. Not too far away, Vesriel was still crying. A particularly loud wail drew the attention of the group again.

Feyre scowled, defensive. “Just wait until you raise your own children.” These pampered High Lords probably wouldn’t be doing much childrearing of their own, leaving the job to their wives or servants.

She got a few sympathetic smiles, but most avoided looking at her. Appetite lost, Feyre stood to go trade off with Rhysand.

_You can finish eating._

She shook her head, holding out her arms for Vesriel. He practically dove to her, a litany of _MamaMamaMama_ on his lips. _Not hungry._

She felt a spike of worry through the bond, and opened up her end a little more to reassure Rhys. Together, they wallowed in the shared misery and frustration of parenthood for a second before Rhys squeezed her hand and went back to the table.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Feyre said. “Let’s go for a walk.” Her grip on the squirming child was less than gentle, but he was going to wiggle out of her arms and fall on his head if she didn’t hold on tight. Rhys had tried all the usual tricks, so Feyre walked to the river in hopes of finding something shiny to entrance Vesriel.

The trees by the river were in the middle of changing colors, branches still full with leaves of red, orange, and yellow. Feyre patiently pointed out the bright hues, narrating their walk along the river bank. The roots of the trees were gnarred and tangled, creating an interesting patchwork. Eventually Vesriel’s crying calmed to sniffing as she pointed out some fish in the river. He rubbed his face in the space where her neck met her shoulder, a tell that he was tired.

“Are you hungry, Ves?” Feyre rubbed his back.

“No.” His voice was so petulant that she had to smile, even if him not eating was a problem for her. Tired herself, Feyre sat at the base of a tree on a pile of tangled roots. Vesriel wiggled a little more so he was cradled in her arms and could still see the river.

Leaning against the trunk, Feyre allowed herself to drift off a little. The murmuring of the river and quiet hum of the wild was a sweet lullaby. If she concentrated, she could make out the voices back near the house. Vesriel’s breathing slowed, and Feyre had hope that he would fall asleep.

Until, of course, he shot up in her arms. “Down!”

“Careful, Ves,” Feyre gently put him down. She walked with him, trying to take his hand. Predictably, he ripped it away as he picked his way to the riverbank. There was a strip of pebbles that allowed him to run up and down the bank, looking for something elusive. “What are you looking for?”

He ignored her, bending down to pick up a pebble and then throwing it down. It seemed like Vesriel was just entranced with this new environment. “Fish!” He took a step closer to the river, pointing to it.

“Vesriel, take a step back.” She warned. She did not want to take a wet toddler home.

With an impish grin, Vesriel took a step closer to the river. Her jaw dropped. Where did he get the sudden burst of energy, and why was he being so difficult? Sure, her children were smart. But to be so bold as to deliberately test her like this…

“Sweetheart, come here.” She tried smiling next, holding out a hand. He took another step, but miscalculated. In slow motion, Feyre watched as he slipped on the slick pebbles, falling backwards.

And then she was there, scooping him up and backing away from the river. For a second he looked spooked, and then Vesriel burst out into laughter. “Again!”

Feyre laughed incredulously. This child knew no fear. “Oh you want to fall down again?” She acted like she was dropping him, letting him fall for a fraction of a second before tossing him back into the air.

Both mother and son cackled as Feyre continued to toss him. “Again, again!” Vesriel kept demanding.

_I thought you were going to put him to sleep._ Rhys, and the rest of the party, could hear them from the house.

_He didn’t want to sleep._ Feyre chuckled and started walking back to the house. “Should we go find Daddy?”

“Yes,” Vesriel squirmed. “Down, down!”

Once they were clear of the worst of the uneven forest floor Feyre set him down, and he took off in a run towards Rhysand. She couldn’t help but chuckle and follow in a brisk walk. Again though, Vesriel’s feet got ahead of him and he slipped. This time Feyre wasn’t fast enough to catch him.

_Do not look at him._ She told Rhysand, who obliged and turned his back. She kept a steady pace, walking up to Vesriel who lay on his stomach, still shocked from him fall. And then he burst out crying.

This time, Feyre knew he wasn’t faking. The fall did look like it hurt, though she had seen her boys recover from worse. But hunger, exhaustion, and pain created a volatile mix inside a child. She picked Vesriel up, and he curled up against her in his familiar spot as he cried. “That was a bad fall, huh? Next time, let’s go a little slower.”

Running a hand down his back didn’t seem to soothe him, but Feyre continued with the repetitive motion. And then she felt the two lumps and sensed the tension in the air.

“You’re okay, Ves.” She tried in vain to calm him, but it didn’t work.

_Rhysand._ She called him over as Vesriel’s crying reached a new pitch. The lumps in his back, his trapped wings, grew. When Niphrym was young, his wings would grow when he was happy and giggling. Vesriel’s wings appeared with any heightened emotion: happiness, anger, pain, confusion.

Feyre kneeled on the ground, holding Vesriel steady as he thrashed. On the table, a glass broke as Vesriel’s power started to burst forth. Rhysand appeared next to her, kneeling and gently moving to free their son’s trapped wings. The sweater had gone over a white shirt, and the layers proved difficult to remove

“Damn it, Feyre.” Rhys hissed, trying not to agitate Vesriel’s wings. She growled, holding Vesriel a little closer and glaring at Rhys.

Fae males were aggressive, overprotective, and territorial. That was well known. Advertised less frequently was that females were worse when it came to their children. Another old, animalistic tendency that never quite went away.

They were all tense. Feyre was running on a few hours of sleep, and she had been growing more and more concerned about Vesriel’s mood swings.

So when Rhys made a face, just as annoyed as she probably was, Feyre couldn’t stop the snarl that ripped its way from her chest. For a minute instinct triumphed over reason. She and her son were surrounded by extremely powerful High Fae, not all of which were necessarily her friends.

“Feyre,” Rhys said softly as he leaned back a little, giving her space. _You’re in control._

She was, or at least she was trying to be. Incidents like this had happened before. Sometimes she would remember what Rhys said about Beron strangling him in his crib, or she would catch other High Lords staring at Niphrym too long. Azriel still had a small part of his force dedicated to thwarting assassination attempts. Feyre hadn’t allowed the children to be taken out of the Night Court until they were old enough that their power would act of its own accord if they were in danger, until they could run on their small legs. Everyone thought that was Rhysand’s rule. It wasn’t.

Maybe it _had_ been a bad idea to bring Vesriel today.

Feyre stood, using her power to simply cut into Vesriel’s shirt and free his wings. He was still thrashing, still uncomfortable with something. “I’m taking him home.”

Rhys got up after her, keeping his distance. “It’s a little early to leave.”

“I know you wanted to discuss grain trade with Thesan.” Feyre said. “You stay.”

_Are you sure you have to go?_ Rhys stepped a little closer. His eyes were on Vesriel, but he didn’t dare touch him. _I can put Vesriel to sleep._

Feyre bristled. _No. It’s not necessary._

_Not necessary?_

“No, Rhysand.” She snapped aloud. He frowned, his only sign of surprise. “I’ll see you at home. Thank you for hosting us, Helion. I’m sorry we have to leave early.” From the table, the High Lord inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Then she winnowed, difficult when holding a squirming child. They ended up in the foyer of the townhouse, which was blessedly empty. Vesriel’s screaming echoed louder in the open space.

When he got like this, there were few things that could calm him. Sometimes, a flight through the night sky worked. Things were too loud and colorful during the day though. Putting Vesriel to sleep, forcefully, was also an option. Feyre detested it.

“Okay, Ves,” she sighed, trudging up the stairs. “How about a bath?”

She lay him on her bed, stomach down so he wouldn’t hurt his wings, and quickly drew a hot bath. Then she stuck her hand in and made it even hotter. Getting Vesriel undressed and in was a process, but as soon as Feyre was standing in the hot water with steam rising around her, Vesriel was still in her arms. Still, she cupped water and trickled it onto his legs to get him used to the heat.

Very few, human or fae, would like bathing water so hot it was almost boiling. But Vesriel had fire in his veins, an inherited gift from the Autumn Court. It hadn’t actually manifested in any flames yet…but Feyre knew.

Of course, you wouldn’t be able to tell that Vesriel’s affinity was for fire considering how much he was enjoying the water. Feyre sat in the bath, Vesriel propped up on her bent legs, as he splashed and ducked his head under.

The tears had disappeared, the agitation and the confusion were gone. Hunger might keep him awake, but after a few minutes of lounging in a scalding bath Feyre was sure he would be knocked out.

It worked well, but she resorted to it rarely. It wasn’t just the heat that calmed him. It was playing in the water, the weightlessness. The scent of soap. And she needed to be in the bath with him too, because Vesriel would inevitably want skin-on-skin contact. Rhys could stand the hot water for a couple of minutes, but Feyre did it better.

But they couldn’t keep this up. Feyre was past pretending that everything was fine, that it was natural for Vesriel to get upset for almost no reason. He didn’t just cry—he had fits. One moment he would be happy and the next there would be something just _wrong_. She resolved to figure it out.

“We should give you swimming lessons,” she mused, waving her hand to create birds of water. Vesriel laughed as they flew around the room, shimmering in the sunlight. When one got closer enough for him to close his fist around, it evaporated into mist.

“Again, Mama!” He demanded, slapping the water with his hands, splashing with his wings. She obliged, sinking lower into the water as Vesriel played. The hot water was good for them both.

Predictably, he wore himself out and lunged towards her. Unless he was tired, Vesriel was never much of a cuddler. Even then, he was selective. It was mother’s privilege—and sometimes punishment—that Feyre was the one Vesriel turned to when he was cranky.

“Can you take a shorter nap, Ves?” Feyre ran her fingers through his short, thick hair. It was darker than her brown, but not the raven black of Rhys. “Or are you going to sleep for a few hours now and keep Daddy up?”

Vesriel pouted. “No Daddy.”

“Okay, no Daddy.” Feyre laughed in agreement. “You stay with me. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state that the tension between Feyre and Rhys and Vesriel's "rejection" of Rhys at the end is just part of a one-time thing. It's a stressful situation, but it doesn't mean that this family loves each other any less. Both Feyre and Rhys are worried about their son, and I think it would unrealistic to always present a united front and be on the same page about anything. They will have disagreements, but not fundamental ones, if that makes any sense. And at the very end, Vesriel is just happy to be cuddling with his mom. :)
> 
> I also thought if fae males got to be aggressive and possessive and blame it on instinct, our fae mothers should get to be Mama Bears. Fight me. Or in this case, fight Feyre. 
> 
> As always, please take a moment to review with your favorite line, a question, or even a typo you noticed. It makes my day!


	8. mama who bore me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama who bore me
> 
> Mama who gave me
> 
> No way to handle things
> 
> Who made me so bad
> 
> —Mama Who Bore Me, Spring Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter started going one way and then it veered sharply to the left and I hit the brakes but I was skidding but instead of crashing I regained control and artfully slid into a parking space on the side of the road like some action movie star. If that makes sense.
> 
> Title does come from Spring Awakening, and I would go ahead and take a listen. It's a wonderful song.

Feyre did not make a habit of overthinking post-sex. 

It was just unreasonable, in the first place. After sex, the only thing that should be on her mind was the sex. And after sex with Rhys, she shouldn’t be able to have a coherent thought at all. Especially after he had held her so close, whispering sweet things in her ear and rocking so deep inside her—

Anyway. She would have called their latest tumble life-altering if they didn’t make love like this on the regular. But then again, maybe it was life-altering. Because it could be. Because she stopped taking a tonic to prevent pregnancy. 

After years, they were finally trying to have a baby. They had been trying for three years now, and Feyre knew it might take years more. There was plenty of time to adjust herself to the idea of motherhood and to get excited. But there was also plenty of time for worrying.

Feyre absentmindedly ran her fingers through Rhys’s hair. Groaning into her neck, Rhys rolled off of her onto his back. Together, they stared at the light of morning crawling across the ceiling. Gradually, panting breaths calmed and wild heartbeats slowed. The sunlight streamed through the windows, so strong she could feel it heating her skin. Summer was upon Velaris, and though the house had been designed to keep cool—both in architecture and magic—it was still too hot to cuddle with Rhys. They could only stand a couple of minutes before the sweat and heat got oppressive. 

“Probably have to go soon,” Rhys murmured, gently tangling their fingers where they rested on rumpled sheets. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I have the meeting on restoration.” Feyre stretched, reluctant to get out of bed. “You and Azriel have fun.”

Rhys snorted, getting up and muttering about how mining regulation was anything but fun. He ducked into their bathroom, and by the time he was back out and dressed, Feyre was still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. 

“Are you all right?” Rhys paused on his way out the door. 

“Hm?” Feyre turned to him, brow furrowed. “Yes. I’m fine. Just, uh. Better to stay horizontal, right?”

A sinful grin spread across Rhys’s lips, and he darted over to her to kiss her one last time before leaving. When he was gone, Feyre sighed heavily and sat up. 

That itself seemed to take an unsurmountable amount of energy. The bed was warm and comforting, still smelling like Rhys. But that wasn’t why she was reluctant to move. She just…didn’t want to. 

Determined to wrench herself out of this mood, Feyre drew a bath and got ready for the day. On the agenda were visits to three theatres and to assess the need for funding for restoration. They had private funds, but the Court could spare some money to help repair the centuries old buildings. Then she had been planning to walk through the Rainbow on her way home and pick up some new paints, but that no longer had her interest. 

This mood was killing her. It wasn’t a pervasive thing—it didn’t stop her from doing her work, or from loving Rhys, or laughing with her friends. But it nestled in the back of her mind. Thankfully, Feyre was slowly cornering it. 

In the bath, she lazily flicked her fingers to make butterflies, then little ducklings swimming in her bathwater. With a thought, the forms fell away back into the water. Then she tentatively raised her hand. Some more effort was required, but soon she had the form of a baby. Small, with ill-defined features so that it could belong to anyone. 

Sighing, Feyre let the caricature fall away and stood from the water. 

Walking through the city, going to the meetings, it was all routine. It was something she usually enjoyed, though she couldn’t feel that warm glow that typically came about when she was admiring her city. Feyre loved Velaris. So why was she feeling so empty as she walked through its streets? 

Even the colors of the Rainbow didn’t hold her interest. When she arrived, she picked up some lunch from street vendors and wandered. Exquisite music and sights that stunned didn’t make her pause as they normally might have. Vendors sold their wares, citizens came to say hello. In front of her, a group of children ran past, shrieking with delight. 

No, Feyre’s mind was preoccupied with something else entirely. 

She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed someone calling her name. It wasn’t until Nesta grabbed her arm, scowling, that Feyre realized her sister had been trying to get your attention.

“Nesta,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Her sister grumbled. Before Feyre’s mind could go to the worst places, Nesta placated her. “You told me you had plans to come here, and I wanted to talk to you.”

That’s right. At dinner last night with the Inner Circle, she had talked about her plans for the next day. But why would Nesta want to join her? All Archeron sisters appreciated beauty, but Nesta wasn’t an artist like Feyre. 

No questions were answered as Nesta looped her arm in Feyre’s and started down the street. They didn’t speak. Feyre, because she was waiting for Nesta to reveal why she had hunted her down. And Nesta…well, Nesta either didn’t know what to say or was keeping Feyre on her toes. 

They stopped in front of a little café, like so many of the others that graced Velaris. “Here’s fine.” Nesta walked in like royalty, and despite Feyre’s protests the sisters were treated as such. Nesta asked for a more private table, so they were seated in a corner in the back. When a server came with tea and biscuits and then left, Nesta finally spoke. 

“You’re the second person I’m telling.” She sipped her tea delicately. “I would have told you with Elain, but she’s busy today, so I’ll just tell her tonight. But you have to keep it a secret.”

“Depends what it is.” Feyre said, though she’d truly never reveal something Nesta asked her to keep confidential. 

Her older sister put down her teacup and smiled. “I’m pregnant.”

The world stopped for a moment and then sped up. Feyre could tell her jaw had dropped. Before Nesta could get the wrong idea, she smiled brilliantly. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Nesta rolled her eyes. “We had a healer come and check.”

Feyre laughed with joy. “Cassian must be over the moon.”

“He is.” Nesta blushed, looking down. She played with a biscuit on her plate, breaking it into smaller pieces. “It’s taken forever but—I’m going to be a mother.”

“I didn’t even know you were trying.” Warring emotions broiled inside of Feyre, ones she didn’t understand. Why should she be feeling anything but joy?

Nesta shrugged, oblivious to her sister’s inner turmoil. “It’s not something to publically share, not when it can take decades.”

Feyre hummed. That’s the logic she and Rhys had subscribed to as well. But it seemed like a good time to share. “Right. That’s why I hadn’t told anyone that Rhys and I are trying too.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Well, I suppose it’s time.”

They sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea and thinking on the news. Feyre couldn’t be happier to become an aunt. Nesta maybe wasn’t the epitome of “motherly,” but she loved so fiercely. This child, being born into this family, would never know what it was like to not be loved. 

And there. Maybe that’s what was bothering Feyre. 

“Nesta,” she searched for a way to delicately broach the topic, but there wasn’t one. “Our mother was terrible.”

“So you are afraid we’ll repeat her mistakes?” Nesta asked. Her response was more gentle than usual. “We are stronger than her, Feyre. I have no doubt that we’ll actually love our children.”

“But what if she did love us?” Feyre asked. “What if she loved us in the only way she knew how, and that wasn’t the way we needed to be loved?”

What if asking the youngest child to look after her family had been the smartest thing her mother could do to protect the loved ones she was leaving behind? What if her mother had loved them enough to ask Feyre to take charge? What if she knew Feyre could do it? 

And what if Feyre got into a habit of asking her child for impossible, unfair things? It seemed almost inevitable. A child of the Night Court, an heir. Hunted for their power. Destined for a certain life. 

What choice could she give, what path except “protect your Court and your people?” And how was that any better than what their mother had done? 

She wanted to raise her child, not an heir. 

“There isn’t a right way to love, Feyre.” Nesta said. “You do what you can with what you have. And sometimes you adapt and learn. Our mother never cared to love the people we were. I think she just cared about us as babies that she carried, if at all.”

“And that wasn’t wrong?” If their mother had only seen them as her children, not as real individuals, she had made a mistake. 

Nesta shrugged, pouring more tea for herself. “Wrong? Yes. But in the end, she saw us for more than that.”

Her last words and the promise she made Feyre give was evidence. For in their mother’s mind, there was polished and prim Nesta, sweet Elain, and odd little Feyre. It was only in the end that she realized her youngest daughter might be the only one who could save her family.

It wasn’t fair. One could say it wasn’t “right” or “just.” But it was what happened, and Feyre had to make her peace with that. 

“I’m not saying we have to forgive her, or,” Nesta waved a hand, sighing. “I don’t know what I’m saying. My relationship with Mother was not yours. I hated her too, for a time. Now, I just remember her as a sad, small woman. She was the woman who gave birth to me, not a parent I should look to.”

Feyre nodded. She looked down into her own teacup and swirled the cloudy brown liquid. “You’re not afraid of becoming a mother?”

“I’m terrified.”

Shock made Feyre’s head snap up. Even after all these years…unusual for Nesta to admit a weakness. Downright worrying that she did it so candidly. But her sister’s face was hard, mouth set in a grim line. Nesta’s eyes bore into Feyre’s fiery and determined. “We don’t have many examples to work off of. But I know that I can love, Feyre. And I already know that there is nothing—nothing I love more than my child. I have that, and I have my family.”

Both of their eyes were shiny, but Nesta’s voice was clear. “I think I know that I’ll make mistakes. But Cassian will be a great father. And you and Elain and everyone else will be there to help.”

It was a testament to Nesta, to how far she had come, that she was able to say these things. Feyre reached across the table the grip her sister’s hand. Nesta—never able to love freely and openly, but someone who cared fiercely and felt acutely. Only now, the circle of those she loved had expanded. 

Nesta squeezed her hand and then drew back, retreating a little into herself. The window of self-reflection and deep thoughts had passed. Feyre let it go, content with what she had gotten. “So, how did you break the news to Cassian?”

They chatted for a while, sipping on tea and biscuits. This far north in the summer, it was impossible to tell when it was getting late. Feyre was shocked when she caught a glimpse of a clock and saw they had been there for hours. “I hope you didn’t have anything else important to do today,” she said as the both stood, paying the check and walking out of the café.

Nesta shrugged. “I just wanted to track down Elain so I could talk with her.”

“Why don’t you both come over for dinner?” Feyre suggested. “Just us.”

They ambled down the street towards their neighborhood. A couple of years ago, Cassian and Nesta had bought their own townhouse near Feyre and Rhys. It was close enough to be comfortable, but far enough for each couple to have their own space. Elain resided in her own small apartment on the other side of the Sidra, though she had a simple cottage outside of Velaris that she visited whenever she could. The flower gardens there took up more space than the tiny house.

“We might have to invite Cassian too.” Nesta said. “We only just found out a few days ago, but he’s been stifling.” She ranted a little about her husband’s behaviors, the incessant worrying and smothering love. Nesta made sure Cassian was more than aware of how irritating he was being, and there was no doubt that Cassian was trying to temper his reaction. But…he was a fae male. There wasn’t much that could be done.

When they arrived to Feyre’s home, Nesta wrote a quick note to Cassian and handed it to Feyre to be sent over. It was a neat trick that Rhys had finally taught her, and Feyre felt a little thrill of accomplishment as the note in her palm disappeared. Then she sent another to Elain.

Together, the sisters prepared dinner. Still not a stellar cook, Feyre mostly relied on reheating leftovers and putting together simple things. A simple vegetable soup bubbled away on the stove, and Feyre tossed in some leftover chicken. Nesta worked on slicing a loaf of bread baked that morning and paired it with cheese. In solidarity, Feyre decided to keep the wine in the cupboards and made some cool lemonade instead.

It still shocked her, that this scene could be part of the gift that was her life. Years ago, she would never have thought she would have this. Cooking with her sister, starting families, being more than just fine. How amazing, to have a purpose besides making sure her family was okay and she could paint to her heart’s content. Feyre had that and so much more now. 

The note she sent out returned, with Cassian graciously giving up his wife for another few hours, content as long as he got to pick her up after dinner. Instead of replying, Elain showed up at the front door with an armful of flowers. She chattered about her day, the special flowers that were blooming in the warmest months in the Night Court. Rare varieties that somehow survived the northern mountains and were hidden in the deepest valleys were picked and hastily brought to Velaris to be sold at a premium. 

Feyre arranged a few of the flowers in a vase, setting it on the table with the food and lighting a couple of candles. The scene was cheery, and only became happier when Nesta broke her news. Crying, Elain hugged Nesta and rattled on about how they would have to decorate the baby’s room and dress the baby and how cute the baby would be and oh, would the baby have wings?

Poor Elain looked beside herself when Feyre told her that she was trying for a child as well. 

In the house full of Archeron sisters, the only tears were happy ones. The shrieking was full of joy, the sighs wistful. A vase of flowers rested on the table. Pretty candles scented with herbs burned. And three sisters dined in the City of Starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews are so appreciated! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at thehaemanthus or bellamysfern. One is a book blog, and the other is where I shitpost.


	9. first day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many ideas and there are so many things happening and I am not sure this is even GOOD but here you go I don't want to look at it for a minute longer than I need to
> 
> Sahil is 8, the twins are a couple of weeks

Cold wind howled outside, ruining the illusion of a bright and sunny day. The foothills may have been bathed in sunlight and peppered with green, but they were still chilly. The bare rock offered no protection from the elements, which could be deadly even in the summer months.

“Mama, I don’t think this is the right thing to wear.” Sahil sat at the rickety wooden table in the kitchen. An empty bowl rested in front of him. Good. He would need his strength for today. 

Feyre knelt down in front of him, double checking that his boots were laced tight. “The training clothes are designed to keep you comfortable during training, not to keep you warm.” If she had it her way, the leather would be lined with fur. But that would just make Sahil overheat, and it would prevent him from getting used to the frigid temperatures the Illyrians dwelled in. 

They already seemed to have so many advantages over her son. The boys and girls who would be training with Sahil grew up together, and they knew what was expected of them. While she, Rhys, and Cassian had all trained the children before they arrived in the camp, there was only so much she could prepare them for. 

And then there was the fact that she wasn’t staying. When Niphrym started his training, they had stayed together in Rhys’s mother’s house for years, shuttling back and forth between the camp and Velaris. She had spent even longer with Vesriel, who needed either Rhys or Feyre there to watch him. Lysander had only needed her for a couple of months, and then he was content to stay with Cassian and Nesta. 

Timing just wasn’t on their side. For all the others, Feyre had gotten to hover a little. But Sahil wasn’t the youngest anymore. He had two little sisters that needed their mother. 

She had certainly not planned it that way. When she had asked Rhys—after Elain had given her that cryptic hint—she didn’t expect him to relent so quickly. If you can call a year “quick”. She also didn’t expect to conceive for another decade, but the Cauldron had other ideas. 

In some ways, it would be a blessing to have Sahil finally out of the house. Even for an all-powerful High Lord and Lady, a young child and infant twins were exhausting. 

Feyre wanted to spend more time fussing over her son, but if she did they would be late. And then Sahil would definitely be teased. “Time to go.” She stood, pulling on a coat of her own. Sahil scrambled after her as she walked out the door, the wind whipping strands of her hair into her face. 

She did not look back, did not check to see if Sahil scurried behind her. Eyes were already on them, tracking mother and son to the edge of the camp where some boys had already arrived. Feyre held back a shudder. Their eyes followed Sahil like he was prey. 

It always happened this way, of course. A High Lord’s wife insisted her son be trained in the Illyrian way—and he was destined to get beaten down for it. 

Niphrym, Vesriel, and Lysander never had exactly the same troubles as Rhys did for a couple of reasons. The Illyrians had changed and become a little more tolerant. They were also more afraid of Rhysand than they were of his father. But the deciding factor probably was that Feyre wasn’t just the High Lord’s wife; she was High Lady, and the Illyrians were terrified of her. 

Hard packed, half-frozen dirt squelched under Feyre’s boots as she drew closer to the training fields. When they were still far enough, she stopped. She was conscious of every eye watching as she knelt in front of Sahil. His jaw was clenched, against the cold or fear she couldn’t tell. Probably both. 

“You know that most mothers don’t do this.” Feyre said, and waited until her son nodded to continue. “They would say that this makes you weak. That I should not coddle you. But my love for you is not a weakness.” She put a hand on his heart, though she couldn’t feel it beat under his layers. “The love that you feel is not a weakness. Love kept our family together and alive. It kept us safe. Today will not be easy. But I want you to know that the ones who care about you will always be there. When you come home tonight, I’ll be waiting. Okay?”

“Yes, Mama.” Sahil nodded solemnly. 

“Good.” She rose. Turned. Walked away and did not look back. 

She felt the eyes of others on her, knew that they must be shaking their heads. She had been terrified to do the same thing for Niphrym. A public display of affection would not help him, but she had done it anyway. She had hoped her sons would be able to understand why when they were older. So far, they had. 

Feyre ducked back inside their house, closing the door quickly to keep the heat in. A little bit of cold still got through however, disturbing the occupants inside. 

From the cot next to the fireplace, one of her daughters squeaked. Feyre quickly went to her side. Mel—this one was Mel. When they were first born, a piece of ribbon had been lightly tied around their ankles so they could be told apart. Marcy was first born and had a ribbon of pink. Mel’s was a striking violet—close to the hue that her eyes had settled into a few days after her birth. Though the girls resembled Feyre more than Rhys—with brassy hair and what seemed to be a lighter complexion than their brothers—Mel had inherited Rhys’s eyes. It was more than odd, to have twins who were identical in every way except for eye color. But it meant that the identifying ribbons could come off. 

Mel was fussing just a little, but not enough to wake Marcy. After a few more seconds of holding her breath, Feyre saw her settle back down. 

She glanced at the clock. They would wake for their feeding soon. In a perfect life, she and Rhys would stay with all of their young children in one place, but Mel and Marcy were too young. Feyre didn’t quite trust herself with her infant daughters in Illyrian territory. She would be leaving after a week with the girls, trading places with Nesta and Cassian.

The day went slowly, although Feyre had plenty of work to occupy herself with. She often joked that the only reason Rhys made her High Lady was so he could split the paperwork with someone. Reports had to be read, letters demanded responses, and social correspondence had to be kept up. 

All that, in addition to the housework. After washing the dishes from breakfast, Feyre fed and changed both girls. Then there was the laundry to see to. She only had to make lunch for herself, but in the afternoon she’d have to go to the fledgling market to buy more things for the rest of the week.

Feyre wrangled with Marcy, tucking a flailing hand into tight swaddling. She made a noise of protest, the start-stop cries of an infant spilling from her mouth. Feyre picked her up and stood, walking around and making soothing noises. When the crying didn’t die down, she touched Marcy’s cheek and the baby turned her head to suckle on her finger. Somehow, the hunger of newborns always surprised her.

She peeked into the crib to check on Mel, who’s head was turned to the side as she gazed out the window. There wasn’t a whole lot to see here, but Mel was entranced anyway. Only a thin pane of glass separated Mel from the outside. With Niphrym, Feyre would have fretted and worried about the baby being too cold. Now, she knew better. 

She had also dragged Rhys here a couple of days ago to put down layers upon layers of wards and refresh the old ones, but that was necessary. No way Feyre was taking her girls anywhere that was not warded, especially in the middle of Illyrian territory. 

A glance at the clock told her she might just have enough time to nurse Marcy, head to the market, and have dinner started by the time Sahil got home. But during that time, Mel would get hungry too. 

And here she thought being sequestered in Illyrian territory with no obligations but her children would be easy. 

“Okay, Mel,” Feyre reached into the cot and picked Mel up, balancing her in one arm while Marcy rested in the other. “We’re going to try something new.” If Rhys saw her handling the twins like this, with one in each arm, he’d probably faint.

In the past few weeks, they had managed to get away with feeding at different times. Rhys or the nursemaid—the same female they’ve worked with for decades—would mind one baby while Feyre fed the other. But today required some innovation. And acrobatics, as it happened. But once she figured it out, Feyre was quite pleased with herself. Burping them was another challenge, but soon the girls were full and sleepy. 

Content, it was easy for Feyre to wrangle the twins into warmer things and put them side by side in the baby carriage, then pile more blankets on top of them. She probably smelled like milk and spit-up, but the only care she gave to her own appearance was to throw her hair back into a braid. 

Though the Illyrian settlements were commonly referred to as war camps, they were often established enough to have homes, small markets, and packed roads. It wasn’t like the paved streets of Velaris, but the sturdy and tested baby carriage did just fine. It was large enough to squish the twins together on one side and pile purchases on the other. 

This far from major cities, the only things for sale were local essentials. Meat that hunters found in the forests, foraged herbs, whatever happened to grow in the rocky soil. Regular shipments of goods came in from the south, but those were expensive. 

Feyre could have transported everything directly from Velaris. In fact, she did bring some things. There was a shortage of good tea this high up in the mountains. But it would be unseemly to live amongst the Illyrians and bring in their own food and supplies. 

So her list included things like milk, bread, eggs. She bought a chicken and watched as it was butchered, cut up, and wrapped in paper in front of her. The merchants were wary of her, but also desired the money they knew she had. Feyre’s last stop was the apothecary, a tiny warm shop. 

“High Lady.” The female who sat behind the counter had lines around her mouth and eyes. No wings peaked from behind her back; she was old enough to have grown up in a time where the wings of females were simply ripped off.

“I’m looking for some herbs to help with my milk production.” Feyre said, nodding to the carriage in front of her. “Do you have anything like that?”

The female nodded, picking up a pouch and beginning to spoon powders from different jars into it. “So it’s true? Twins?”

“Two girls.” News had traveled fast through Prythian, though the announcement wasn’t made until after the twins were born. Tarquin had been particularly annoyed that he hadn’t been told, and had shown it by sending enough clothes and jewels from the Summer Court to fill a wardrobe. For Feyre, Mel, and Marcy each. In the high Illyrian territories, the news would have spread through word of mouth. 

“Must be nice after four boys.” The female finished adding things to the pouch and weighed it. “Should last for a couple of days. Just add a spoonful to your morning tea or porridge. Do you require anything for the pain?”

She hadn’t mentioned anything about being in pain. Feyre frowned, but the woman spoke before she could say anything. “You’ve delivered twins. Don’t tell me you aren’t facing some discomfort. Tired too, I supposed? On edge? I could give you something for all of that. Something to take at night, help you sleep.” 

“No.” Feyre shut down the idea. The pain relief she might have taken, if she wasn’t concerned about it dulling her senses. But something stronger, a sedative? There was no way she’d take that. 

“Very well, then.” 

They finished the transaction, and Feyre tucked the pouch of herbs into her pocket. She hurried home, eager to get the twins inside and warm. The house was cold, but a flick of her wrist had a fire roaring. Once the twins were settled, she got to work on dinner. 

The front door slammed open as she was finishing up. “Don’t let the heat out, and set the table once you’ve washed your hands.” She took bowls from the cupboard and turned around, almost dropping them when she saw Sahil. “What happened?”

A nasty bruise on his cheekbone was already turning all sorts of interesting hues. Blood oozed from a split lip. Sahil looked ready to drop where he stood. Blinking, he stood a little straighter and managed an offended look. “Well, there was this group of boys who wanted to start knife throwing. And I tried to be nice and tell them the first thing they really should learn is defense, and uh…” he trailed off, scuffing his foot against the floor. 

Feyre brought out a dish towel, then cupped her palm. In seconds, water appeared and condensed into an ice block. She wrapped the ice in the towel then ushered Sahil to sit, holding the ice against his face. “So did they beat you up?”

“We fought,” Sahil nodded. “I let them yield, but one of them was playing dirty and got me.”

Her mouth popped open. “So…what happened to them?”

The corners of Sahil’s mouth tugged down and his eyes filled with tears. Then he hissed, reaching up to touch his spilt lip. Feyre caught his hand and made a soothing noise. She didn’t dare heal it yet. Often, bruises were a form of punishment given out by the commanders. You got into a fight, you dealt with the consequences. 

“Sorry, Mama,” Sahil sniffed. 

Feyre knelt. “For what? Tell me what happened.”

A knock from the door startled both of them. It was more like pounding. The sun had set, and the wind picked up. Feyre didn’t feel bad at all about stalking to the door, one hand ready to volley fire or ice and the other holding a dagger. 

The wards protected them from most assailants, but relying on them as protection was foolish. Wards had failed Feyre before. She opened the door ready to strike if needed, but it wasn’t. 

“High Lady.” The male stood with his helmet under an arm, standing firm despite the bracing cold. “I am Krotias, and I am in charge of training the children.”

Feyre only relaxed a fraction. “And what brings you here?”

Krotias opened his mouth to explain, but a mewling cry from inside cut him off. “Mama, the cold is bothering Marcy and Mel!” Sahil hopped off his seat, injuries forgotten, and rushed over to the twins. Like his elder brothers, he was already intensely protective of the girls. 

Loath to go outside herself, Feyre scowled. “You’d better come in.” The look she gave Krotias was enough to warn him against doing anything she would perceived to be a threat. 

The door latched shut behind him, but Krotias didn’t dare walk more than two steps in. Good. “There was an incident at training today. Sahil got into a fight with three other boys.”

“I can see that.” Rather than sound angry, Feyre did her best to be apathetic. Fights happened. She expected them to, as all Illyrian parents did. 

“The fight was over. Sahil ended it. No verbal yield was exchanged, although the three boys were down. One of them got back up as soon as Sahil’s back was turned.” Krotias let Feyre fill in the blanks. “This kind of dishonor in the training fields is not tolerated, as I am sure you know.”

No, that kind of behavior was only allowed to go on if you were smart enough not to be seen. This dishonor came from acting out in front of superiors, from being caught. 

“My son could have told me this.” Feyre said. “Why are you here?”

“The boys will not be allowed to seek a healer, as is custom.” Krotias said. “But Sahil may.”

Feyre bristled. It was an insult for them to assume Sahil would want his bruises removed. Oh, she certainly did. In no life would she wish her children any sort of pain. But an Illyrian wore his or her injuries. If the fight had happened publically, in the training fields, others would expect Sahil to be sporting a black eye. 

Yet submitting to the archaic and brutal rules of the Illyrians was not appealing either. Feyre thought quickly. “If I want my son’s injuries to be healed, they will be. I don’t need you to barge into our home to tell me that.” 

“Yes, High Lady.”

Feyre wasn’t done. “Sahil.” She barked. 

He jumped, looking up from where he had been inspecting Mel and Marcy. “Mama?”

“Do you want your injuries healed, or will you wear them tomorrow?”

Sahil was smart enough to know that this was a test. “The lip will make it hard to eat, and I need my strength. But I don’t need to be healed.”

Feyre turned back around, fixing a glare on the male in front of her. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, High Lady,” he murmured, nodding and turning around to leave. He only let the door open a fraction and shut it quickly behind him. 

“Good,” Feyre muttered to herself, then walked into the kitchen to serve dinner. “I’ll heal your lip, and then do some work for that bruise. The coloring won’t be affected, but I can make it hurt less.”

“Why’d you say ‘good’?” Sahil came back to the table. He picked up the melting block of ice and put it in the sink.

“Because he’s just another Illyrian male who is afraid of their High Lady’s wrath.” Feyre said. 

Sahil frowned. “Is Daddy really that afraid of you?”

Laughter erupted from Feyre. One of the delights of having children were the innocuous comments they made; they didn’t always realize what they said could be so funny. “No, Sahil, but I think Uncle Cassian might be.”

He nodded, pensive. Much like Lysander, Sahil liked to think. But unlike his older brother, once Sahil started talking he wouldn’t stop. Feyre had a vivid memory of walking into his room, where Rhys was supposed to be putting him to sleep. They were supposed to be reading a story on his bed, but somewhere along the way Sahil got out one of his school books. He talked and talked about what he had learned that day, not realizing that his father had fallen asleep behind him. 

Feyre put two bowls of stew on the table. “I’m sorry you got hurt today.” She kneeled down in front of her son to begin healing his lip. “What were you talking about before? About being sorry?”

Sahil shifted, trying to stay still as she did her work. “Daddy told me not to get into fights on the first day.”

Rhys hadn’t told her that. He shouldn’t have demanded it of Sahil, either. Fights were out of his control. “Why did he say that?”

“I dunno,” Sahil said. “But I should tell him sorry.”

“The fight wasn’t your fault.” Feyre took her seat and began eating. “You were just trying to be nice, right?”

Sahil nodded, murmuring something incomprehensible. He poked at his stew, disinterested. Feyre remained silent, waiting for him to speak. “Everyone else already seemed to have a friend.”

“They probably do,” she said softly. “But you can make friends. It just takes time.” 

“Yeah,” Sahil said, finally starting to eat. 

A nagging thought remained in the back of Feyre’s head. “Sahil? Are the only injuries you have from when the other boys surprised you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. They kind of got some other hits in, but I was too fast.” 

She didn’t know whether to feel proud or chilled. Her children might have been given incredible power, but fighting ability didn’t work that way. They had to train, and all of them had. She had given some lessons herself. Out of all her children, Sahil was the most peaceful. Yet, he had still managed to beat three others and come away with minimal injuries. 

A flare of concern and protectiveness made her blood heat, but Feyre forced herself to look down and keep eating. She had been right; staying in Illyrian territory with her three young children was a terrible idea. 

Sahil would be cared for with Nesta and Cassian, and there was no safer city for the twins than Velaris. Yet Feyre was face with constant reminders that her children were hunted, albeit for different reasons. Multiple factors made them a curiosity. They had all inherited some sort of daemati powers when those abilities were usually random, their inherited strengths from Feyre varied, they held Illyrian blood, they were the children of a Made female. 

Now she had Marcy and Mel, incredibly rare twins. Normal twins were coveted, but her girls would be hunted more than her older sons.

“Mama?”

Sahil’s voice brought her out of her haze. Feyre released her grip on the wooden spoon, which had splintered. She sighed, tossing it into the fire and getting another. 

“You promise you’re not mad?” Sahil asked when she sat. 

Feyre smiled, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I promise. I’m just worried.”

“But I didn’t get hurt.” Sahil said. “Well, not that much.”

It was painful to know that her children were targets. It was even more difficult to try and talk to them about it, but being honest was always better than lying. “I’m not worried about your injuries. I’m worried that the boys wanted to hurt you. And I’m worried because there are so many people who want to hurt us.”

“Because you’re High Lady and Daddy is High Lord?” Sahil asked. 

“Some of it is because of that, yes.” Feyre said carefully. “But it’s mostly because you are so special.”

Sahil smiled sheepishly, humble even at this young age. “Not really.”

“Oh yes, you are. You and your brothers and your sisters.” She grinned, but then sobered a little. “That’s why sticking together is so important, do you understand? That’s why I told you this morning that love was a strength. Because I’m going to do my best to protect you. Me and your father both will. But I won’t always be there, and sometimes you’ll have to take care of yourself. Sometimes, your siblings will be there to help you. And one day, you’ll have to help them.”

Sahil nodded. “Yes, Mama.”

Feyre sighed. This wasn’t how she wanted the evening to go. “Don’t think about that now. You’re still young, and I’m not planning to go anywhere any time soon. Understand?”

“I understand.” Sahil scraped the bottom of his bowl, spooning the last of his meal into his mouth. “What’s for dessert?”

Feyre laughed, standing and taking both of their bowls to the sink. “You can help me with the dishes then play with the girls. Then, if you want, one cup of tea or some milk before getting ready for bed.”

Her son dutifully helped her clean up, then even helped out when it was bath time for the twins. With incredible gentleness, Feyre watched as he gently rubbed their delicate skin and poured warm water over their heads, using his hand to make sure nothing got into their eyes. While she wrapped Mel up, Sahil held a swaddled Marcy next to the fire. 

“I’m going to take care of you, Marcy.” He said innocently. “Just like our brothers took care of me, because we’re family and that’s what Mama said we have to do. So I’ll help you, and one day you’ll help me.”

And though a kernel of despair settled in her stomach—anguish at the thought of her children ever going through any hardship—a gentle warm settled her. Burdens were always easier to bear when family stood alongside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to comment if you can! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @thehaemanthus or @weavemeamyrtlecrown


	10. the sound of silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely one of those "I'm not totally pleased with this but if I stare at it any longer I'll start to cry" chapters. 
> 
> If you are so inclined, give "Farewell to Dobby" a listen before reading. 
> 
> Title is from the song, The Sound of Silence. Simon and Garfunkel are great, but if you don't like their style Disturbed has a good cover.
> 
> And last but certainly not least, thank you to Nayiri for reading this and correcting my dumb mistakes. You're a doll. :)

Feyre had never known silence like this.

She had been born into a loud world, a world of humans and parties and wealth. She had matured in the tranquil forests, which had buzzed with the quiet energy of life. All of her trials and imprisonments, whether they be Under the Mountain or in the Spring Court, were nothing compared to the state of that room.

Muted light filtered through thin curtains. The thin shadows moved across the room with a passing of time, almost the same every day. Feyre tracked their journey in the back of her mind. Hour after hour. Day after day. But that was not what she was most concerned with.

A shallow rise of the chest. Each rasp of a breath. The flutter of eyelashes. A groan. A wakeful state that was just enough to press a sip of water, a spoon of broth through dry lips.

Her world was so, so silent.

He was too still, lying on the bed. The movements of his breathing were all that assured Feyre that he was still alive. That, and that cursed bond inside her head.

Rhys was tethered to her in the most intimate of ways. She had the power to see inside minds but the privilege to share a connection that went further than any other of this world. While they held separate minds, they shared thoughts, emotions, worries. It had been that way for centuries. Though separations did happen, Feyre had always been able to reach across miles and oceans. She had been able to send love and receive it in turn.

All of that was gone now. The moment Rhys’s sickness dragged him under, his body had gone on defense. That meant a raging fever that would not break. It also meant that his mental shields became impenetrable.

She had put him back to bed when he awoke one morning, tired and achy. She had returned to find him sick and incoherent. By nightfall, Feyre had sent for a healer. The children had been called for in the middle of the night.

A week later, there was no change. Feyre would know. From that first day, she hadn’t left their bedroom. She curled up on her side, sometimes tucked close to his body. He was boiling, but Feyre thought that he might have turned into her warmth a little. Or she could have just been imagining things.

The family took turns sitting at their bedside. Feyre couldn’t always tell who was there and when. Was it Azriel, Vesriel, Cassian, Sahil? Did Elain run a comb through her hair and braid it back, or was that Mel?

The only people who could get her to move were Niphrym and Marcy. They coaxed her to sit up, to eat, to take a bath. Marcy sometimes lay on the bed next to her mother, and when Niphrym was there too Feyre felt easier about drifting into a restless sleep.

No one tried to make conversation with her or disturb the room. They existed in silence, and Feyre did not know a world beyond that bed.

None of the healers they had called had said Rhys would die. They would not utter the words in this room, but Feyre thought she could see it in their faces. Outside, in the sitting room and kitchen and at the dining table, she imagined all sorts of conversations were going on. The thought flitted through her mind then dissipated into mist. That wasn’t important right now.

His chest continued to rise and fall.

The creak of the door disturbed the fragile atmosphere. “Mama?”

In her stupor, Feyre hadn’t realized she had been alone in the room with Rhys. She sat up, turning to face Marcy and Niphrym. They hovered in the doorway before Marcy took a couple of steps in. “Mama, all of the healers are telling us that Daddy is stable. It’s all right to leave for a while.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Niphrym said quickly.

Feyre felt a burst of annoyance, which was exactly what her children were probably hoping to avoid. She was not a child, and she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. A layer of grief may be resting heavy on her mind, but she was still functioning. “I’ll leave if I need to.”

Vesriel pushed into the room next, moving through the world with his usual aggressive stance. The contrast with Niphrym and Marcy, who acted like the very air in the room could shatter, was refreshing. Vesriel pushed a chair close to Rhys’s side of the bed and fell down into it. “I’ll stay here for a couple of hours. You all…go take a walk. Buy some cake. Sit in a café and listen to music.” Vesriel’s face softened just a little. “It’ll be fine, Mama.”

Feyre scowled, but the entreating eyes of her children bore into her. Fine. It would do no harm to leave for just a while. She bent back down to place a kiss on Rhys’s cheek and fuss over him a bit before peeling herself off the bed. Marcy led her to the bathroom and picked out a simple dress for Feyre to wear while she bathed.

Downstairs, the rest of the family waited. Lysander sat at the dining table, taking care of official Court business and all the paperwork that came with that. Sahil sat reading on the couch, though his eyes weren’t devouring the pages like they usually did. Elain knitted a blanket in the corner, while Mor and Azriel talked quietly.

“Where are the others?” Feyre rasped, her voice weak after being silent for so long.

Mor turned, smiling gently. “Nesta and Cassian had to go to some of the war camps. The news reached them, and they are being a little restless.”

Of course. Her family had probably tried to keep news of Rhys’s sickness quiet, but there was no way that they could keep it a secret. For a moment, a spark of life came back to Feyre. “And the other courts? How long until they know?”

“Lucien is keeping the news to himself,” Elain said, a little defensive. Feyre nodded. She hadn’t expected anything less. Elain may have been the High Lady of the Day Court, but she was Feyre’s sister first.

“It’s hard to say,” Azriel answered the rest of her question. “Spies probably informed the High Lords days ago. Depending on the court, it could become public knowledge within days.”

Feyre nodded. “I want you to tell me who knows what when. And I want to know the moment that the news reaches lands beyond Prythian.” The other kingdoms on the continent might use the weakened state of the Night Court against them…

“Of course,” Azriel said. “You know I’m already monitoring them.”

The question was who he would have turned to with that information. Feyre had not been herself, she knew. While she knew that she could have taken the news, no one else around her could have been sure of the fact. Who to turn to then? Amren and Mor had experience ruling in Rhys’s stead, but that risked supplanting Niphrym as the presumed heir.

Feyre liked to think her family was immune to power squabbles, but there was no room for confusion. No precious time to waste or falter. She had to remember to assert herself more.

“We’re going for a walk.” Marcy announced, putting her sandals on and pulling out a pair for Feyre. “Anyone care to join us?”

Shaking heads and murmurs meant that it was just going to be Feyre, Niphrym, and Marcy. Feeling a sense of unease, Feyre cast her eyes around the room again. “Where’s Mel?”

The room seemed to freeze. Another kind of silence, with a stronger sense of foreboding. No one wanted to answer her. “Where is Meliora?” Feyre didn’t know whether she should be terrified that her daughter had disappeared or infuriated that she was not present. Her blood boiled as she waited for an answer, her powered hummed. She was ready to winnow to any corner of the world.

Only Sahil seemed to be brave enough to speak. “She went to the Winter Court and sent a letter.”

The rage humming under his skin fizzled out until it was a lingering irritation. Years ago, Mel had become entranced with some Winter Court lordling. While Viviane and Kallias vouched for him, he was centuries older than Mel. He was a skilled warrior, a noble with considerable power within the Winter Court and connections across Prythian. Meliora was powerful, smart, more than capable. But she was young, and Feyre was a mother.

Her absence could have been taken as an insult had Feyre not known her daughter better. Mel was cunning and cautious. Still, none of that explained why she was not at her father’s bedside. The time for being comforted by lovers could come later.

Feyre flicked her fingers to extinguish the blue flames dancing from her nails. She shook off lingering anger and instead crossed to the dining table to find a free piece of paper and pen. Without finesse, she wrote two notes. One to Mel, directing her to come home immediately. The other to Kallias and Viviane, instructing them to send her daughter home now.

After that, it took more convincing to get Feyre to leave the house. All she wanted to do was go back upstairs and lay down. Five minutes of activity was enough.

“Come on, Mama,” Niphrym pushed her. “You need fresh air.” Her children got her out the door and into the sunshine.

As if knowing what had happened to its High Lord, Velaris was muted. Not the silence of the bedroom, or the quiet of the townhouse. The streets were dotted with people doing their business, but there were no children playing games. As they walked into commercial areas, vendors still sold their wares but none shouted into the streets. Laughter was hushed, smiles were strained.

“High Lady,” a woman bowed as they passed.

Another pressed a cup of warm tea into her hands. “Keep your strength up, Lady Feyre.”

She nodded and handed out strained smiles, soaking up the sun. Niphrym had been right. She did need the fresh air and the sun on her skin. Even though her mate was in a precarious position, Feyre found some comfort in their city.

For hundreds of years, Rhys had protected Velaris. Many residents had never known another High Lord. For the first time, Feyre allowed herself to think about what would happen if Rhys did die.

Her heart would break, she knew that. The Night Court would reel, most of its residents going into mourning. Cassian and his children would likely have to put down rebellions in the more restless factions of the Night Court armies. Other Courts in Prythian would send condolences, but would no doubt start to think of the political implications of the most powerful High Lord in history dying.

But life would go on. Much as it did now, with residents crossing the many footbridges spanning the Sidra, artists sketching on the banks, and friends meeting in squares. Children would be born and others would die. The world would go on turning. But Feyre’s mate would be dead.

She stopped in her tracks. On the bridge, Feyre could feel the Sidra pulse with power. Her feet drew her to the railing, where she could peer down into the river’s murky depths. Mountains loomed in the distance, a range that stretched to cover the entire Night Court and was peppered with rich forests. Feyre felt it all. There was power in those looming mountains, in the forests, in the water and air. That power was a part of her and a part of Rhysand. What would happen when he died? Would it flow into the earth, or into her, or into their heir?

Her eyes fell shut with a sigh, and she slumped against the railing. A gentle breeze kissed her cheeks. The world seemed to go very quiet around her. Feyre let her power stretch out, let the awareness of the water and the air and the earth below fill her.

With the next exhale, she let it all go.

“Time to go back,” Feyre turned and began walking home, not looking to see if her children followed.

Niphrym scrambled to her side. “Mama?”

“Did something happen?” Marcy caught her arm, hanging on like the young girl she no longer was.

Feyre squeezed her daughter’s hand, gently prying it off. But she did not answer. Nothing was wrong and nothing was right. For a week she had felt like her whole world was collapsing, but life outside their townhouse was slogging forward.

The walk home was brisk, and Feyre immediately climbed the stairs as soon as she was inside. She kicked off her shoes and shrugged the coat off as she walked through the bedroom door. “Out,” was all she said, and Vesriel was gone in a second.

After being outside, the room seemed all the more silent.

Feyre delicately climbed onto the bed, stretching out next to Rhys. She had thought she knew his face like the back of her hand, but hadn’t it changed a little? He looked slightly aged. The shape of his jaw was different, and the beginnings of laugh lines could barely be seen. She still looked like she was in her twenties, but Rhys could pass for a decade older.

“Hey,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke back his hair. His skin was still worryingly warm. “Hi, Rhys.”

She didn’t expect an answer, but was disappointed anyway when he gave no reaction.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she began. “I don’t know if the healers do, but…they won’t tell me. Though, I haven’t exactly been asking.” She tried to smile, to let Rhys hear some levity in her voice.

“I want you to know…” her voice shook. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you have to go. You must be fighting—you’re so strong—but I don’t want you to…to hurt yourself.” Her words did not make sense, but she kept talking.

“I understand, Rhys. I do. And you shouldn’t be kept here by us, because we’ll be okay.” Feyre cleared her throat, trying to get the sentences out. “I know we promised to never leave each other again, but I think we’ll have to break it, at least for a little while. Niphrym isn’t ready yet. Our family isn’t ready to—to lose both of us.”

Feyre sat up, jerking away and slamming a hand over her mouth to keep in her sobs. _I love you. I love you beyond reason, and because sometimes that love is the only reasonable thing. I would love you even if some stupid pot hadn’t told me that you were made for me. I loved you before I knew you, and if there is a life after this one I will find you in it and love you then. But I love our family too. I love our people, and the city we live in, and the lands of our Court, and this entire world that is filled with life. And I am not ready to leave them._

Her voice finally broke, filled with the sounds of tears and sorrow. “I don’t know if you are dying, and I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to know what it’s like to exist in this world without you.”

She couldn’t help herself as she fell over Rhys, clutching him close. Life thrummed through him still. Feyre cried for that life, for her own, for the void in her mind that was a distant memory. She had never known a time without Rhys and did not want it. Yet for the first time she accepted that as possibility, and the thought alone cleaved her in two.

“Please,” she gasped, turning her face into his chest. She did not know who she prayed to or what she wanted. Cries of supplication were thrown into a wind. Maybe she was asking to be delivered from this pain, in whatever form possible.

Reigning in her tears again, Feyre lifted her head enough to place a kiss on Rhys’s cheek. “I love you, Rhys.” She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his.

Still. The world was still.

He was still.

The hand that had rested on Rhys’s cheek moved to his lips. Feyre held her breath waiting for air to brush her fingers so that she too could exhale. It never came.

“It’s okay,” her voice sounded slightly hysterical, and she didn’t know if she was talking to Rhys or herself. All the emotions she had kept up locked within herself, which had only just started to leak, threatened to burst forward. A maelstrom rested inside of Feyre, one that would rock to world when unleashed. “Oh, Rhys. Rhys.”

She thought she would scream. She thought the absence in her mind would drive her mad. But Feyre let her body sag, its weight pressing into Rhys as if she could keep him here. She wept, near silent tears landing on their bed, his skin. The taste of salt was in her mouth. The sunlight was too bright. He was too still.

Until a soft moan, maybe a groan, and another inhale.

Then Feyre cried out, reaching out for the bond. Before, she had been afraid to touch the connection, had been afraid of the emptiness she was all too familiar with. But he was still there, and still strong.

Her cries came stronger now, sobs shaking her body. She clutched her mate, wanting to thank him and the Cauldron and whatever force kept him for another moment, hour, or day.

The door behind her burst open with a crack, and Feyre could feel the room fill up behind her. She sniffed loudly, lowering her face so her children wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes. “He’s okay. But he stopped breathing for a moment.”

“I’ll get the healers,” Sahil said. She felt him step forward and squeeze her shoulder before winnowing away.

Another form came up behind her and sat on the bed. “Mama, Mel is here.” Marcy said.

Feyre didn’t have the energy to deal with why her daughter had fled. She just held out a hand for Mel, who darted forward to take Marcy’s place. Feyre sat up so she could hug her wayward child.

“I’m sorry I left,” Mel said, sniffing.

“Shh,” Feyre said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Rhys’s chest moved steadily, and the room buzzed with a nervous energy. The healers came, prescribed new medicines, skimmed their hands over her mate’s body. The day turned into night, and then dawn broke through the curtains again.

It would be another two days before Rhys woke, weak but alive. Another month was needed for him to regain full strength. Feyre couldn’t help but walk on eggshells around him. She tried not to be stifling—she had enough personal experience with it—but it was hard.

His mysterious sickness had passed, but there was a feeling of dread in Feyre that never left.

She had always assumed that a life without him would be impossible. That old phantom pain lingered sometimes, appeared in dreams and waking nightmares when she was at her most vulnerable. He had only been died for a handful of moments when they repaired the Cauldron, but the memory of the void in her soul was unforgettable.

That memory had almost become reality, and Feyre was shocked with herself. She did not bend. She did not break. Somewhere, she mustered the courage to continue living.

Her life with Rhys was a gift, but so too was the life she would have if he ever left her.

_When it’s time to go there, we go together._

“You didn’t break the promise, Feyre.”

She knew he was behind her. If she had wanted true seclusion, she would have hidden herself better. As it was, only Rhys was able to find her on the remote cliff. “I came close.” The stars were especially bright that night. She chose to focus on them, rather than feel Rhys’s gaze burn into her back. Snow covered the ground in patches. Wind whispered through the pine trees, sparse as they were this high up. Not even the toughest Illyrians would make a camp here.

“Do you think I would have cared?”

“I care.”

“Why?”

“Because my entire life has been defined by an existence next to you.” Her voice did not shake, and she did not waver. “I am terrified of losing you, almost as much as I am curious.”

Rhys did not take offense. How could he, when he understood every thought in her mind? “That scares you.”

“A thousand years, Rhys.” She said. “How have you lived for over a thousand years without losing yourself?”

“Who says I haven’t?”

She bit back a snarl. “Don’t play with me.”

“Fine.” A pause. “If you ever want that existence without me, just say the world. I’ll take an extended vacation.”

Feyre’s eyes slid closed. He did not answer her question, and he had no intention to. “I’ll be home soon.”

She was met with the sound of wind and expansive silence, almost enough to convince her that she was alone in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay. So that happened.
> 
> This is far into the future (hinted at by the fact that Elain is High Lady and that bit at the end) All of the kids are adults, but I didn't give an exact time stamp. If you are confused by that bit with Mel...yeah. I have plans for this family. I'm just not sure how I want them to be presented. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a review. You can tell me your favorite line, character, a scene you want to see, or even a spelling mistake. I know they are there. Don't be shy.
> 
> I guess this has also come up recently, but I do accept constructive criticism. It used to be common place to do that, but now people are like "but what if you hurt the author's feelings??" I know I sound like an old man complaining about "political correctness" or something, but really. If you're worried about telling an author "hey, maybe you can do this better" please just give the advice. I'd appreciate it, at least.
> 
> What else?? Ah, yes. You can find me on tumblr at weavemeamyrtlecrown or thehaemanthus. 
> 
> Happy Holidays!!


	11. birthday wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo I hope you all enjoy this one. We're expanding the family. Fun fact: this is based on a true story. It was a fun time, lol.
> 
> I know I got a request to make a family tree, and I'm trying to figure out the best way to do that. In the meantime, you can go to my tumblr and ask questions. Also, it'll be easier for me to post a picture or diagram there.
> 
> In other exciting news, we're getting closer to the publishing of a Vesriel spin-off that will tie in with a larger plot.
> 
> The next two one-shots are going to be a part one/part two deal, which will also hint at larger things to come. I'm very excited!
> 
> Thanks to Nayiri again, for correcting my stupider mistakes.

“Happy Birthday!” Feyre called out, smile wide as she waltzed into Nesta and Cassian’s home. Rhys trailed behind her, gift in hand. “Where’s my little lady?”

“Aunt Feyre!” Tiny feet thumping on the floor announced Addy’s entrance. She careened around a corner, bounding a couple of steps before launching herself in the air. A couple of frantic flaps of her wings was all that was needed before Feyre caught her.

Nesta followed her daughter at a more sedate pace. “ _Adelaide_ , what did I say about flying in the house?”

Addy’s eyes widened, and she looked to Feyre for help. “She just took a huge jump is all.” Feyre kissed her niece’s cheek and walked past Nesta into the dining room. “You are going to be quite the warrior, aren’t you?”

Nesta hissed at her back. “Just you wait until you have your own kids,”

“You’ll have free reign with them, Nesta,” Rhys said, striking up a conversation and saving Feyre from the wrath of her older sister.

In the dining room, Feyre listened attentively as Addy related her most recent sleepover at Elain’s, where they had picked flowers and baked a small cake. “We made pink cake. I didn’t like it.”

“Oh no,” Feyre sat down. “Why not?”

“I want _orange_ ,” Addy said emphatically.

“Ah, I see. And how do you make an orange cake?” Across the table, Azriel smiled at them fondly. He poured Feyre a glass of wine and slid it over as she mouthed “thank you,” not daring to interrupt Addy.

“You listening?”

Ah. She had been caught. “Of course, my little lady! Did Aunt Elain come up with ideas for how to make an orange cake?”

Right on cue, Elain breezed into the kitchen with a platter. “I did!” She said, holding the cake up triumphantly. Rhys and Nesta followed, with Nesta lingering only a moment to make sure the table was mostly set before ducking into the kitchen.

Addy practically leapt out of Feyre’s arms, trying to get to the cake, but her aunts prevented the joyful reunion. “Dinner first, Addy.”

Sensing an argument, Rhys tried to distract his niece. “How old are you turning today?”

Addy frowned, suspicious. “You know.”

“Oh, but I’m so old, Addy.” Rhys sat down next to them. “You’ll have to remind me.”

“Three!” She gave a visual aid as well, proudly holding up three fingers. Rhys exclaimed appropriately and stole Addy from Feyre’s lap. Knowing she’d get an opportunity to ambush him and take back her prize later, Feyre stood and took her glass of wine into the kitchen.

“Need any help?”

“Take this,” Nesta set a stack of plates on the counter. “Set the table, we’ll be right out.”

“Thanks, Feyre!” Cassian said as he took a dish from the oven. “I’m sorry my wife is in a mood.”

“You would be too if you had been home alone with Addy in the past week,” Nesta grumbled.

Feyre handed over her wine glass without prompting, and Nesta took a healthy gulp. “What’d she do?”

“She’s just been getting into everything,” Nesta sighed. “She does things to deliberately test me. Things she knows are wrong. And she’s so picky! I can’t pick out clothes for her. It’s dresses, all day, every day. She wanted to wear a party dress to sleep, and when I put my foot down, she cried for _half an hour_.”

“Addy is just a kid, love, this is normal.” Cassian kissed his wife’s cheek as he breezed past, carrying platters into the dining room.

Feyre picked up the plates and followed. “He’s right. But if you ever need it, you know we can always watch her.” From the moment Adelaide was born, she had the entire Inner Circle wrapped around her tiny finger. Not that Amren would ever admit it, of course. She was the only one who didn’t steal away Addy for sleepovers or trips to the theatres or a day at the beach. The rest of them gladly took the toddler off of Cassian and Nesta’s hands whenever they could.

Nesta mumbled something under her breath, clearly not meaning for Feyre to hear. That was fine. Her attention was taken up again by the party in the dining room. Amren had arrived, and was trying to look like she wasn’t bored. In contrast, Addy glowed with all the attention she was getting. She was now in Azriel’s lap, leaning over the table to talk to Mor.

“Okay, the sooner we eat, the sooner we get cake!” Cassian announced, and that was enough to get everyone—including the unpredictable three-year-old—to settle down. As was usual with their Inner Circle, dinner was a raucous affair filled with laughter. They managed to keep the conversation tame, now that younger ears were among them. With Nesta’s threats, it hadn’t taken long to break Cassian out of his cursing habit. Everyone else had enough self-control to keep from swearing. Most of the time.

Addy, for her part, was uncharacteristically cooperative. She ate her food with minimal fussing, all the while eyeing the cake in the middle of the table.

“I had to get creative with the dye, of course,” Elain gushed about her creation to anyone who would listen. “It’s orange-flavored, but to get that color and taste? You don’t want to know how many cakes I made Lucien test—”

“Lucien?” Nesta snapped from across the table.

Feyre raised her eyebrows at Elain, trying and failing to hide a smile. Her sister had a bright blush on her cheeks, but cleared her throat and answered anyway. “Yes, Lucien. You know he visits me.”

“For small outings and to accompany you to official events,” Feyre said. “Not to your home.”

“Well, now he is.” Elain spoke with a finality that ended the conversation, a combination of her resolve and because Nesta and Feyre were both a little chastened. Elain was quiet, but sometimes they made the mistake of thinking her _meek_. Every once in a while, a reminder was needed.

_Did you know about these visits?_

_I know everything going on in my territory._

Feyre made a mental note—that she let Rhys hear—to get back at him somehow. Then she slammed her shields down. Good. Now he would live in fear for the foreseeable future, wondering what she was going to do to him.

“Daddy, I’m done,” Addy proudly shoved her plate away from her.

“You’re full?” Cassian checked. “You sure you don’t want more food? Mama and I worked reaaally hard to make your favorites.”

Addy pouted. “I want cake.”

“I’m in agreement with the little lady,” Rhys stood and started to gather empty plates. “As High Lord, I declare it to be cake time!”

Addy cheered, scrambling up to stand on her seat and jump up and down. Leaping up, Nesta got Addy to still and kneel on her chair, rather than risk falling off. “She gets this all from you,” she hissed to Cassian.

“What? Being a contrary little hellion?” Cassian asked teasingly. Amren cackled gleefully.

Nesta shot back a barb, but rather than join in, Feyre retreated to the kitchen to help Rhys with the dishes and get smaller cake plates out. To her surprise, Azriel was already there.

“I didn’t see you walk in.” Ferye looked back, wondering how she could have missed it.

“I’m sneaky.” Azriel deadpanned. “We’ll wait another minute for Amren to get annoyed and threaten to annihilate them both.”

For years she’d had this family, yet it never got boring. Not a day went by that she didn’t wonder at this gift. Lately though, she had been wanting more. Addy was a wonderful addition, but there was room for another.

It took more arguments and no small amount of demanding from Addy to get everyone seated back at the table and ready to cut cake. Cassian swooped in behind Addy, picking her up and settling her on his lap so she could see the cake better. “What’s this?”

Addy looked down to where her father was pointing. “Bandage.”

Feyre leaned forward, seeing the white gauze that covered Addy’s knee. “Oh no! What happened, Addy?”

“I fell,” she said. “My knee got owie.”

Cassian frowned. “That was yesterday.” But Addy was no longer paying attention, because Rhys had decided to put on a show of stars and shadow, providing dramatic lighting for the cake cutting.

Nesta snorted. “What did I tell you? She’s been demanding. She won’t let me take it off.”

“You just take it off,” Cassian said.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“You try it.” Nesta crossed her arms and sat back.

With a few gentle tugs, Cassian removed the bandage, revealing a scraped up but mostly healed knee. It didn’t take long for Addy to notice. She looked at her knee, then at Cassian, then back at her knee. Then she started crying.

“I WANT BANDAGE!” Addy sobbed.

“What?” Cassian looked at his daughter like she told him she wanted to live in the Spring Court.

“I WANT BANDAAAGE.”

“I told you.” Nesta made no move to help. Neither did anyone else. Azriel and Mor worked to stifle their laughter, but Amren made no secret of her amusement. Feyre’s heart broke at hearing her niece’s distress, but she couldn’t help but find it a little funny as well.

“Look, you’re all healed, you don’t need a bandage,” Cassian pointed out. Addy pushed his hands away and screamed some more. Tears streamed down ruddy cheeks, and her cries were punctuated by hiccups. Now equally as distressed, Cassian tugged her closer. “I’ll get you another, okay? Should we put on another bandage tomorrow?”

“YESSSSSHH!”

Feyre whirled around, hiding her face in Rhys’s shoulder. Addy couldn’t quite pronounce her “s” yet, so “yes” sounded like “yesh.” Hollered at the top of a three-year-old’s lungs, the word was enough to break Feyre.

_Deep breaths,_ Rhys advised.

_How are you keeping it together?_

_I am Death Incarnate._

Feyre snorted, but kept further amusement to herself. If Addy thought she was laughing at her, she would never forgive herself. When she was a little more collected, she turned back around. Rhys kept his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Addy looked like she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was distraught over the bandage, but he father had promised her a new one and there was a cake in front of her. It was a lot for a three-year-old to handle.

 Sweeping in, Nesta took Addy from Cassian and held her close. “It’s just a bandage, Addy. We use bandages to help our cuts heal, but we don’t need them to stay on forever.” Her voice was soft, a tone she only ever used with Addy. “Should we have some cake?”

The stream of tears that had cascaded down Addy’s cheeks slowed. The little girl nodded, holding onto Nesta’s dress and wrinkling the fabric in her fists. She burrowed closer to Nesta, rubbing her tear stained face on her mother’s dress. “She may be a little tired,” was all Nesta said in explanation. “Are we going to have cake or not?”

“Excellent idea!” Elain sprang from her seat, grabbing a knife to start cutting pieces. Once Addy had cake in front of her, any sign of distress disappeared. She was back to being a boisterous, happy toddler. For the rest of the evening, Addy entertained the adults with her games and antics.

Feyre could tell that she was slowly crashing though, her movements getting slower and voice getting softer. The last piece of evidence was when she crawled into Feyre’s lap and snuggled close, bringing one of her aunt’s hands into her own. Addy loved to trace the tattoos that danced up her forearms. It was the sleepy type of activity that put Addy in a trance and had her knocked out in minutes.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Feyre gently ran her fingers through Addy’s curly black hair.

“Yesh,” Addy slurred, wiggling so she was more comfortable in Feyre’s lap. “I want more cake.”

She giggled, pressing a kiss to Addy’s head. “Maybe tomorrow. And maybe you can have a sleepover at my house in a couple of days?”

Addy nodded, yawning. “Ask Mama, please?”

“I will,” Feyre said, and in minutes Addy’s eyes were closed. The rest of the room quieted down, noticing the sleeping child. Cassian offered to take her upstairs, but Feyre declined. She liked her cuddle time, and was content to sit in a corner, listening in on the conversation. She caught Rhys’s eye looking fondly at them, and he stood to sit next to her on the couch. Sighing, Feyre leaned into him. “I want one.”

“I know.”

“It’s been years.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes, knowing what Rhys would say and the explanations that could be given. It would just take time. Children were rare. Every once in a while, though, she would have moments of weakness and impatience. Cuddling with Addy was a good substitute—even if she never had her own children, she’d have her niece.

“Time for bed,” Nesta stood, walking towards them.

Feyre shook her head. “Can I keep her?”

“No,” Nesta said, unimpressed. “She needs to get a solid night’s sleep, otherwise she’s going to be a brat tomorrow morning.”

Knowing her sister was right, Feyre kissed Addy a couple more times and then stood, carefully cradling her. She took Addy upstairs herself, but let Nesta get her changed and ready for bed. Back downstairs, Rhys was convincing Cassian to let them take Addy for a couple of nights.

“I’ve been gone from my baby for a week, and you want to separate us again?”

“You’ll get her back,” Rhys said. “We just want to hang out with her for a day or two, that’s all. I’ll take her flying.”

“You will do no such thing!” Cassian’s wings flared a little. “If you teach her to fly and deprive me of that experience, I will never forgive you.” It sounded like he was only half joking.

“We’ll figure it out later,” Feyre intervened. “Maybe not soon, but in a week or two? I’m sure you and Nesta could use some alone time then.”

Cassian considered, narrowing his eyes at Rhys. “I’ll think about it and talk with Nesta.”

“Good.” Feyre tugged Rhys’s hand. “We’re going to get going too. Early morning tomorrow.” Goodbyes were said, future plans made. Rhys and Feyre strolled home, comfortable in the cool night air.

“Are you all right?” Rhys asked.

Feyre frowned, looking up at him. “Fine. Why?”

The pause told her that he was carefully measuring his words. “You were very attached to Addy tonight.” It wasn’t a question, but the weight of those words…

“I’m…just in a mood,” Feyre said. “It’ll pass.” She couldn’t hide the strain in her voice from him though. Rhys drew her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. They both had times like this, when the burden of waiting got to them. But like all things, it would pass. Unbeknownst to both Rhys and Feyre, their period of waiting would soon be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read my Throne of Glass work, you've seen the recent chapter and the words on reviews. I won't be as long-winded here, but the two points were a)reviewing is always better than a kudos and makes the author happier and b)I accept constructive criticism. I didn't know that was an issue, but I'm resolving it now. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a quick review! It truly does make my day, even if it's constructive criticism. I do want to know what you guys like/don't like/want to see.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @thehaemanthus or @weavemeamyrtlecrown


	12. summer solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life had been absolutely kicking my ass in the worst ways possible, but I thank you all for your patience.
> 
> This was written in a couple of hours because it's the summer solstice and I NEEDED to get this out. Right now. It was important. There's not plot. Very little point. Just some fluff and uh. How do you say? Easter eggs? Hints for what I'm planning to put these kids through? Read carefully. 
> 
> Later, I'll probably have Nayiri go back and correct my many mistakes.
> 
> UPDATE: THERE WERE SO MANY MISTAKES WHY DIDN'T ANYONE SAY ANYTHING THE CHAPTER T I T L E WAS SPELLED WRONG

“Happy Birthday, my little sun.”

 From across the room, another voice echoed. “Good morning, my stars. Today is a very special day.”

Feyre grinned as she turned around, one twin in her arms. She watched as Rhys gently reached into the crib on the other side of the room, lifting a still sleeping Mel. He frowned, cuddling her close. “We should let them sleep in. It’s their birthday.”

“We have a very special day planned for them though,” Feyre said, speaking more to a bleary Marcy than she was to her mate. “Don’t we, little sun?”

Marcy babbled something back, interrupted by a yawn. But Feyre wouldn’t allow them to go back to sleep. She had put them to bed exactly on time, just to make sure that they would be well-rested for today. There were plenty of festivities to take part in before naptime, and then a more private party in the evening.

The other children—even Niphrym—had never gotten so much fanfare. But none of the other children had been born on the Summer Solstice.

It had worried Feyre at first. The Cauldron was surely up to something, playing with destiny and fates. But what could she do? Their girls were perfect, the family healthy. And she would make sure they were well prepared for whatever trials came in the future.

Together, Rhys and Feyre got the twins ready for breakfast. They didn’t dare change them into their day clothes yet, knowing how much of a mess their babies could make. Indeed, the squishy berry cobbler for breakfast got pretty much everywhere. But the girls looked so happy, and it _was_ their birthday. Even if they didn’t know what it meant.

No one was gathered yet at the house—but Feyre had managed to wrangle the entire family to be there for lunch and dinner. The servants were already hard at work, making food and setting up tables in the grass outside leading to the river. It looked to be a sunny day, perfect for dipping feet into the cool river.

In the meantime, the High Lord and Lady had to show their face at Solstice celebrations. Because it was a celebration of the shortest night of the year, the Night Court didn’t make such a big event. But there were markets and vendors, performances and street food. A convenient excuse to get outside and roam around for a bit, to enjoy the summer.

While they were still far from the more crowded streets of Velaris, Sahil held Marcy’s hands as she toddled along, Rhys and Feyre watching carefully just a few steps behind with Mel. Sahil was the only son to have to share attention with a younger sibling while he himself was still a child, but he had taken to it well. There were few things he loved more than his little sisters.

“Well rested?” Rhys asked, squeezing her hand.

Feyre shrugged. “This one woke up again in the middle of the night, but she was just hungry.”

“Isn’t that supposed to have stopped?” Rhys frowned at Mel, giving her a once over.

“She’s just having a growth spurt.” Feyre pressed a kiss to Mel’s cheek, causing the little girl to laugh. She wasn’t always this affectionate with her children, but something about the twins’ birthday made Feyre happy. Maybe because it was the day her girls were born. Maybe it was relief that she had survived the ordeal. Maybe it was that feeling deep in her soul, the one that told her she was done, her family was complete.

Mel leaned out of her arms, reaching for Rhys. Each child had a preference of parent, though it wasn’t extreme. But Mel would always go to Rhys first. She was attached to him, and he was hopelessly besotted by her.

When the street got busier, Feyre scooped Marcy up, freeing Sahil to dart around. He would run ahead, find something interesting that a vendor was selling, then drag the family over.

“Remember, you can get one thing.” Feyre said. “Choose wisely.”

“I know,” Sahil said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Should I get something I can share with Mel and Marcy?”

She almost stopped right there in the middle of the street. Feyre told her son he could buy one thing for himself, and he responded by thinking of his little sisters first.

Not all siblings did that.

She cleared her throat, hoping Sahil didn’t notice the unexpected wave of emotion. “No, honey, get something for yourself. Mel and Marcy will get plenty of presents today.”

He nodded, oblivious, and ran off again.

_Darling?_

_I’m okay._ Feyre said, sending some of the more complicated feelings his way. She had made up with her sisters long ago. But scars of childhood did not fade. They only ached less with time.

The children loved the festivities on the streets of Velaris, but soon Feyre and Rhys were ushering them back home. The lunch party was for extended family and friends. Unfortunately, it was also for important members of the Night Court and emissaries, doubling as a diplomatic event. Feyre didn’t like her children being exposed to such things, but it was unavoidable this time. Barely anyone outside Velaris had been allowed to see the twins. This would be the first time someone from outside the Night Court even laid eyes on them. If she and Rhys put it off any longer, the other Courts would start to get a little too curious.

The Inner Circle had done enough work to make sure the event was secure and would run smoothly, but that didn’t mean Feyre didn’t have her own stress. She played hostess and mother, feeding the twins, keeping an eye on Sahil’s shoes when he tossed them off to play in the river with the other children, slipping bits of information to Niphrym when he was lost, prodding Vesriel to glower a little less. By the middle of the afternoon, she was ready to take a nap with Mel and Marcy.

Rhys, of course, caught on. Before the last guest had left, he was pushing them all upstairs to their bedroom.

“Rhys, there are still people—”

“That’s what Mor is for.”

“The party tonight—”

“Is just our family.”

“The twins need to get used to sleeping in their own beds.”

Rhys kissed the tip of her nose, still gently pushing her until she bumped into their bed and sat down. “They already are.” Another kiss. “It’s their birthday. You all deserve to be spoiled a little. I’m going to change them, you lay down.”

Feyre grumbled, but did as he suggested. Later, she would indignantly realize that she had fallen asleep before Rhys even came back with the twins. But that was only after she woke up to them crawling all over her, happy and energized from a long nap.

When she got downstairs, the party was already in full swing. If you could call it much of a party. After an eventful afternoon, everyone just wanted to relax. Mor sat with Lysander, each nursing a glass of wine and likely venting to one another. Nesta and Addy looked like they had just come out of another argument. Cassian stayed well away, while his other two children, Catarina and Xavier, chatted with Niphrym. Vesriel was sitting with Amren, nodding seriously at whatever she was saying. Elain and Lucien’s little girl darted around, drawing pictures and handing them out to everyone, occasionally stopping to play with Sahil. And Feyre was curled up on a couch with her mate, watching her little sun and stars play and learn.

Was it already a year? How had they grown so much? She remembered the day they were born vividly. It was a day of fear, excitement, wonder. They had been so small and frail. And she hadn’t felt much better.

_I know._ Rhys kissed her temple, resting his head against hers. _I know, my love._

_They can’t be small forever, can they?_ She sighed, wiggling a little closer.

Rhys stroked her arm absentmindedly. _No. They can’t._ She felt his attention roam to their sons, felt his anxiety and worry.

_Enough._ Feyre put her foot down. _It’s their birthday._

_That it is._ Rhys straightened, clearing his throat. “I have a feeling that the girls will be a little too excited after dinner and cake, so how about we open presents now?”

Everyone had brought something—everything from little gold jewelry gifted by Amren to homemade presents from the younger ones. Mel and Marcy had the time of their lives ripping open the presents, playing with new toys, and admiring shiny gems and new colors.

“One more present,” Rhys announced when the frenzy had passed. He held out a hand and a moment later was holding a box. “For you, my darling.”

Feyre smiled when she took the present, a little embarrassed. But by now was used to it. Rhys loved showering her with gifts, and would use any opportunity to buy her something. The birthdays of their children provided an excuse. She had tried to fight it, but by Niphrym’s eighth birthday the tradition had stuck.

Somehow, Rhys never failed to buy her something meaningful. That was a feat, considering their six children, the eldest of which was well into adulthood.

Trying not to seem too eager, Feyre carefully opened the box. A silver locket sat nestled in a bed of velvet, shining brightly and engraved exquisitely. It seemed to almost give off its own light as Feyre lifted it. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Rhys snorted. “You haven’t even opened it.”

She shot him an annoyed looked, but curiosity won out. The locket opened with a flick of her finger, and Feyre gasped. Niphrym stared back at her, but not as he was now. By the looks of it, it was a rendering of when he was still a baby. About one year old.

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back. Curse Rhys for reminding her that these were the last babies she’d ever get to hold and cuddle and carry.

Feeling her emotions, Rhys sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. _Watch._ He ran a finger over the tiny portrait, and it changed. Vesriel. Then Lysander. Sahil. Marcy. And finally Mel.

“I was waiting until I thought we were completely done.” Rhys said. “And I know we said we were a couple of times but…”

But they both knew. They both had been waiting for another and another until the girls came. Then the final puzzle piece fell into place.

_I love you._ Feyre turned her face so she could kiss her mate deeply, ignoring the sounds of disgust from others in the room. She giggled as Rhys pecked her nose. Somehow he still made her feel like a giddy young woman.

_You are young. For our standards, at least. Unfortunately, you’re shackled to an old man._ Rhys joked, helping her up from the couch and fastening the locket around her neck. _You look beautiful._

Around them, their family was slowly meandering to the dining room, half-heartedly picking up the mess the twins had left behind and ushering the young ones ahead of them.

This was good. This hadn’t been taken from them. The panic and heaviness came less and less often now, but Feyre knew she would never be completely rid of it. Today, at least, it was gone. There was no looming cloud, no fear in her heart.

And that was gift enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a review or some constructive criticism if you'd like!


	13. grow side by side (part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is busy is a typical excuse/justification, but holy shit life is getting exponentially busier. Is this what growing up feels like? I don't like it. 
> 
> Here. Have this. A subtle reminder that these kids are supposed to be involved in a story that has plot. 
> 
> I already have the lovely Nayiri beta-ing, but as we get more complicated I'd love to have someone else to bounce story ideas off of. You can comment or contact me directly on tumblr if interested. It'd be my dream to have someone with editing experience (I want a person who will mark up every paragraph and tell me where my syntax sucks, that's the kind of help I need)
> 
> Enjoy!

“I need your help.”

Niphrym didn’t bother with formalities as he sat down in his aunt and uncle’s sitting room. No one else but his older cousin, Adelaide, was at home. He had planned it that way. Usually Addy flitted between the Illyrian camps, but whenever she was in Velaris she stayed with her parents. But Cassian and Nesta were visiting the Illyrians for today, and little Xavier was with Aunt Mor. Niphrym felt a little guilty for intruding on his cousin when she had the house to herself, but only a little. 

Addy sat down on the couch next to him, face open and expectant. For now. “How can I help, little bat?”

“I need you to come with me to the human lands,” Niphrym said. “Specifically, I need you to help me convince our parents that you and I can handle the next summit. Alone. Mostly.”

Addy pursed her lips, but gave nothing else away in her expression. “Why?”

“Because we are ready for the responsibility!” Niphrym rose, pacing the room. “They can’t keep us in the Night Court forever. There’s only so much we can learn here.” His pent-up energy from the past few days went into his steps. He had been thinking on the idea, planning to propose it soon. He just needed Addy.

“I hardly think you can say you’ve been shut up in the Night Court,” Addy said, unimpressed. It was true. Niphrym had been accompanying his parents around Prythian his entire life. He had visited every court, though he had only been to Spring once and that was under the close eye of his father and Azriel. Even Addy, who wasn’t the heir-apparent, got her fair share of trips in.

Niphrym sat back down, confidence lost. “You don’t want to go?”

“I do,” she surprised him. “And I see the merits of us going, as well as all the reasons why we shouldn’t. I just want to make sure you do, too.”

Niphrym resisted groaning. Though she was only a couple of years older, Addy took the role of an older cousin seriously. Still, they were incredibly close. For so long it had just been the two of them, Addy and Niphrym, little lady and little bat. True, he had always gone to her for advice, but Niphrym was looking forward to the day when they were on a more equal playing field and she didn’t condescend so much. His father had said that as the decades passed, the years between them would shrink. So far, it hadn’t happened. 

Addy read his mood. “I know you don’t like it, but think. Why do you want to go, why would our parents want us to go, and why shouldn’t we go?”

Niphrym laid out the argument in his head. “You and I have been shadowing our parents our whole lives. I can’t say we’d be able to take their places right now, but we can start to take on more responsibility. And if we are ever to actually take their places, we need to be prepared. They should want us to go to get that experience, without the handholding but with a sort of safety net. Arguments against us not going are…I don’t know. We could mess something up? Offend the human queens? Be completely unprepared?”

Addy’s gaze turned a little predatory. She was an equal balance of Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian in looks, but she exuded her mother's air of predatory intensity at whim: haughty, dangerous, and cold enough to make the fiercest warrior quake in their boots. 

“What?” Niphrym barked, throwing a decorative pillow at her face.

A satisfied smirk broke Addy’s expression. “You still get creeped out by that?”

“Shut it,” he grumbled. “Well? Was that good enough for you?”

“Maybe.” She stood, walking out of the room. “But I don’t think you’ve really thought about it enough.”

Obviously, she expected Niphrym to follow. He made a face at her, while she was still turned away, of course. Addy led them to the study, where they wrote up some of Niphrym’s points and Addy gave her own input. “I suspect they’ll have someone chaperone us, but I don’t see why we can’t be the representatives for the Night Court.” She flipped through a report from a year ago, the last time they had met with the Queens. “Hm.”

“What?” Niphrym looked up from his own report, more than fifty years old. 

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if you’re saying ‘hm’.”

Addy looked up, annoyed. “If I tell you it’s nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Knowing you, it might be something. I want to know.” Niphrym put his report down, staring down his older cousin.

This was new. As they got older, both Niphrym and Addy started to grow into the roles that had been set out for them. Niphrym, the heir to the Night Court. And Addy, a potential commander of Night Court armies and one of Niphrym’s future advisors. As cousins, they could tease and bicker and withhold information. As the future High Lord and future advisor, Addy had to have the judgement to know when to tell Niphrym something and when to let it go.

Niphrym wasn’t good with that yet. He liked to have the facts, to be in control. But just like his father didn’t know every squabble that was happening in the Illyrian territories or every spy that was doing the bidding of the Night Court, Niphrym would also sometimes be in the dark. He couldn’t control everything, only delegate to people he trusted. 

Both he and Addy were still learning. This time, she relented. “It’s something that may or may not be important, and I didn’t want to bring it up until I was sure. But here.” She shoved over some documents. “Right after the second War, there were official summits every year. Human queens, Prythian, other fae territories included. Makes sense. After a while they taper off to every few years, though each land keeps up formal connections. Again, makes sense. But look. Fifteen years ago, Prythian starts holding yearly summits with the Human Queens, and no other fae kingdoms are invited. Why is that?”

Niphrym studied the timeline Addy had jotted down. “Who else would have access to this information?”

“No one inside the Night Court, or citizens any of the other Courts, would care,” Addy said. “It’s not a domestic issue. Everyone trusts their High Lord to take care of them.”

“So High Lords and their advisors?” Niphrym frowned. “It looks like the Human Queens and Prythian are allying against the continental fae kingdoms.”

“I know,” Addy said. “But it only looks that way. What if there’s something else going on?”

“Like what?” Niphrym’s mind raced. Why would they need to hold regular meetings with only the Human Queens? What were relations with other fae kingdoms like? He had spent most of his life learning how to control the Night Court, but now he felt woefully unprepared for the world outside of Prythian.

Addy stood, stuffing some of her notes and a report into her satchel. “Come on. My parents only keep some stuff here. All the complete records are in the library.”

The cavernous library held many memories for the children of the Inner Circle. Niphrym had many lessons with tutors here and had spent more than one night up late researching. When they were young, Aunt Mor had given Addy and Niphrym the idea to oil the sloped pathways and race down. He had been a child, and so his punishment had consisted of extra chores and no flying that night. Addy, on the other hand, had gotten thoroughly yelled at by her mother. Later, Cassian had congratulated his daughter. Then he got yelled at too. 

“Here we go.” Addy settled in an alcove, pulling several decades worth of reports, books, and letters towards her.

“What are we looking for?” Niphrym lazily flipped through a book. Why did they need to know the price of gold in the human realms?

“Anything suspicious,” Addy said. “Anything that might explain why Prythian is suddenly worried about the other fae territories.”

“Well,” Niphrym leaned back in his chair. “Prythian was the only fae territory to ally and defend humans, right? The others were more or less on board with Hybern.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you cut off diplomatic ties.” Addy frowned. “If you want to know your enemy’s next move, you stay on their ass as long as you can.”

“Whoa,” Niphrym’s spine straightened. “When did the other fae territories become our enemies?”

Addy looked up, lips pursed. “When were they ever our allies?”

In Addy’s mind, there was no such thing as neutrality. Niphrym’s brain whirled. In the first War, the other fae territories had sided with Hybern. They did the same in the second War. It was only Prythian that had ever been true allies with the human realms as a whole, and that was only once. After the War, a lot of diplomatic work was done with secure borders and sovereignty. But would Hybern and the other fae kingdoms rise up again?

Niphrym brought the situation back to the problem at hand. “If there is something brewing, our parents have no reason to hide it from us. We should confront them with this. Demand to take point at the summit this year too.”

Such a direct action was uncharacteristic of Niphrym. He preferred to ask and listen and deliberate. When he finally spoke, his mind was made up. To make such a decision without consulting multiple sources was an anomaly. 

One that Addy took full advantage of. “Agreed, but we need to make our case.”

They whittled the hours away in the library, doing research and collecting as much information as they could on the human realms. Niphrym thought his lessons had been thorough, but there was so much to learn. How was he ever supposed to know all of this?

“What are you two doing?”

Niphrym nearly upended the glass of water next to his arm. Standing at the entrance to their little alcove, his mother looked on, unimpressed. 

“Uh, researching,” Niphrym said. “Did we miss dinner?”

“No,” Feyre said. “But that’s not why I’m here. You two need to come with me. Now.”

Addy and Niphrym traded looks. Had they been found out? But then why would his mother confront them looking cross? Addy started to pack the materials, but Feyre interrupted. “No time for that. I’ll have the librarians tidy things. We need to go now.” Without looking to see if they followed, she stalked out. 

The three of them were the last to arrive at the House of Wind, with the rest of the Inner Circle already present and sitting around a table. Niphrym’s father was bent over a map, Cassian murmuring next to him. Azriel sat in a chair next to the pair, shadows swirling and delivering their secrets. Further down the table, Mor was talking to Lucien and Elain. Amren sat alone with her arms crossed, but something told Niphrym she was not as idle as she looked.

Rhysand looked up when they entered, jerking his head in a silent order to sit. Everyone took their places, waiting for their High Lord to speak. “Eris’s seat is being challenged. And we need to decide whether to aid the Autumn Court.”

Niphrym’s blood froze. Eris had been High Lord of the Autumn Court since before he was born—a position not obtained without bloodshed. He knew that the Night Court had a hand in orchestrating the transition of power, but he only knew the story in broad strokes. 

“The Day Court will support Eris,” Lucien said. “I will lead our forces. Dawn has already proclaimed their neutrality, and Spring will likely follow. Winter and Summer may support Eris, but it’s up in the air.”

The conversation descended into war planning. This is what Niphrym had trained for his entire life, but he had never seen anything like this. His background was in the Illyrian camps, but his parents were discussing mobilizing their entire court. Should they even go to war? What kind of aid could be sent? Food and medicine and healers could make as much of a difference as men.

It was clear that Addy and Niphrym were there to watch and observe. When they had questions, they asked, but the two were mostly content to listen. The conversation went late into the night before Rhysand made the decision. Niphrym watched as his father locked eyes with his mother. He could tell they were having a conversation, one that only they could hear. With a tremendous sigh, Rhys stood, bracing his hands on the table. “Cassian, mobilize the Illyrians. Mor, put Keir’s legions on alert.”

Everyone stood, scrambling to follow the High Lord’s orders. 

“Elain and I will create a supply route and gather the healers,” Feyre said. “We’ll ask Winter if they’ll allow us through their territory. Or we could sail down the coast from Velaris and cross Summer.” The two sisters walked off, discussing their plans and coordinating the resources of the two courts.

Niphrym gazed at his father at the head of the table, still dissecting a map of the Autumn Court. 

“This will not be over quickly,” he said.

Niphrym stepped closer to get a good look at the map. “Three Courts against a rebellion. What could take so long?”

“It won’t just be rebels from within the Autumn Court,” Rhysand said. “And the terrain…the forest…this will take weeks, at least.”

Seeing an opening, Niphrym took it. “In that case, I have a suggestion. Send me and Addy to the summit with the Human Queens this year.”

His father looked up, uncharacteristically surprised. But he only took a moment of deliberation before making a decision. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You are not prepared,” he said. “The summits are more delicate than you know. You don’t have all the facts.”

Niphrym scowled. He wasn’t a child anymore, or an unruly adolescent. “How am I ever supposed to do the job as a High Lord if I don’t have all the facts?” 

“You’re not.” His father’s words shocked Niphrym into silence. “There are reasons we haven’t told you everything. Some of them are good, and some of them are just parents holding onto their children’s innocence. So no, we haven’t told you everything yet, but it’s time to do so. I will fill you in on our dealings with the other lands of this world. But we need to win this war first.”

Niphrym looked down, trying to find the words to express his frustration. But his parents had never led him astray before. “Promise you’ll tell me everything?”

“I promise. For now, go north to the Illyrians,” his father ordered. “You and Addy will be deployed in a week.”

“A week?”

“You need time to train with your men, for them to trust you,” Rhysand explained. “You have one week to get ready. Then we go to war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. There's a lot happening. 
> 
> Part two is coming soon, I swear. It's done. Give me like. A week. Less. I actually have no idea. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a review with something you liked, a favorite line, who you didn't like, if I forgot anyone (I totally did last time but I from opening the word doc to publishing it was like an hour so lo siento). 
> 
> You can find my on tumblr @weavemeamyrtlecrown or @thehaemanthus


	14. grow side by side (part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still banging my head against a wall. too many ideas. not enough writing stamina.
> 
> ALSO. WTF GUYS. THERE WERE SO MANY TYPOS IN SUMMER SOLSTICE. YOU JUST LET IT. SIT THERE. TELL ME INSTEAD OF MAKING ME FIND OUT FOR MYSELF. HOW RUDE.
> 
> im so tired.
> 
> also im playing with ages to better fit into my Grand Plan. Stay tuned. In this, I want to say Niphrym is about 40, Vesriel is 20, and Lysander is 5. But I may change my mind again.

In the decades since Hybern was defeated, the Archeron sisters had their ups and downs. They became closer. They fought, and sometimes did not speak to each other for weeks. They healed old wounds and occasionally reopened them. But Feyre could confidently say that her relationship with Nesta and Elain was better than before.

After all, what could you do with immortality except make amends or hold eternal grudges? For their differing personalities, none of the females were ones for inaction. They would rather face points of contention than let them stew.

That was what made their current state so painful.

Feyre bit her lip to stop the urge to break the silence. Her previous attempts at conversation were met with quiet from Elain and a scowl from Nesta. However close they’d gotten, now wasn’t the time to say “at least we’re together.” She cast her eyes about the room to find some sort of occupation. Nesta was working on _embroidery_ of all things—as powerful and harsh as she was, she still enjoyed doing something as trivial as needlework. Elain was playing with the new ring on her hand.

It was nothing but chance that led the three of them to be the ones waiting. Weeks ago, one of Eris’s brothers decided to belatedly challenge his claim to the Autumn Court, never mind that Eris was clearly High Lord. But enough dissent and lies had been spread and civil war broke out. Despite having settled debts with Eris, Feyre and Rhysand decided to take a side. The conflict had already started to bleed over in other courts, and, as terrible as Eris was, his brother was worse. If the current High Lord of the Autumn Court was killed, his power would not go to worthy hands.

The Day Court declared their intention to back Eris. The Night Court swiftly followed. Other courts were officially neutral, but had some defectors crossing borders to join the battles. Rivalries and blood feuds older than Feyre were suddenly thrust into the light. For all of the goodwill the High Lords had tried to foster amongst themselves, the same affect hadn’t been had on their people.

So now the Night Court was knee deep in the Autumn Court’s shit, and Feyre was sitting in the House of Wind. She and Rhysand traded off who was at home at any given moment, both deciding that a deterrent was needed for anyone who thought to move against them when they were distracted. Elain, of course, had never been one for fighting. She trained and could defend herself, but could never stomach the bloodshed. And Nesta had taken a blow to her leg early on and was still walking on crutches.

So they waited in one of the many sitting rooms in the House of Wind. The tea had long gone cold on the side table. The rhythm of Nesta’s sewing lulled the room. The shadows made their journey across the floor. Feyre repositioned herself on her couch five times. They hadn’t heard any news, and had no way of asking.

Feyre resisted the urge to tug on the bond that connected her with Rhys and check in. It wasn’t as if every moment they were separated was filled by sitting anxiously waiting for news, but he had told her hours before what was coming. Either a victorious final assault, or another defeat. He had been alone in the command tent when they said goodbye and temporarily silenced the bond.

It had been bad enough, thinking of Rhys fighting. She had always been able to manage the thought of him in danger, been able to keep her wits. But now her son was fighting too.

Niphrym was old enough to join in the war. He commanded his own Illyrian unit, a skill Feyre wanted him to have but never to use. He was good. Untested, of course. Rash at times, and facing plenty of mistakes. She had trouble separating being High Lady from being a mother. To Feyre, it seemed like Rhys had no such trouble.

“Don’t feel bad about it,” he had told her. “I have centuries over you. I fought in wars, and I’ve given orders to family. I remember my own father giving me commands, and while he wasn’t the best father…he was a decent High Lord. He knew how to win wars.”

What did that mean for Rhys and Niphrym? Could her mate treat their first-born son as nothing more than another soldier? That would be fair. That might be what allowed Niphrym to learn the most. But Rhys loved Niphrym so much. What would he do when duty conflicted with family? He wasn’t less concerned than her. Didn’t love their son any less. Rhys was just better at hiding it.

Feyre put her head in her hands, sighing. When they all had been on the battlefield together for a short week, everything had gone smoothly. Rhys gave commands, Niphrym followed, and Feyre kept her mouth shut because she knew in that moment, there was nothing she could say. After meetings were done, she allowed herself to hug Niphrym and kiss his cheek and wish him luck. She left the disciplining to Rhys. When Niphrym took a risk that nearly got himself and his men captured, Rhysand was able to face him as High Lord. Feyre just waited until Niphrym was ready to face his mother.

They knew what they were doing. They were powerful males who wielded both magic and Illyrian steel. She just had to have faith. And wait.

Feyre reached out a hand to warm the tea and then poured a cup for herself.

“Stop _sighing_.”

She jumped at the break in silence and looked up to find Nesta glaring at her. “Sorry.” Feyre hadn’t even realized she was doing it so much. Done with sitting around, she got up to move to a desk in the corner and reread some reports. She had given them a quick once over already and given herself time to think before making decisions. But based on what some of their outposts were saying, maybe it was prudent to begin Illyrian aerial patrols in the north…

She took a sip of her tea, and then froze as the floor fell beneath her feet. Ice slithered up her spine. The teacup fell from her hands, shattering on the marble floor.

“Feyre!”

She was distantly aware of Nesta and Elain holding her, gently lowering her to the floor as her knees gave out, but her sense seemed to be failing her. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, speak _think_. Her soul seemed to be cleaving in two—

The bond. It was screaming at her.

Feyre clutched her throat, as if that would make it easier to take gasping breaths. She blindly cast out a net, mentally digging for the bond buried deep within her, part of her very soul.

Cold hands gripped her face, forcing her to look up. “Look at me. Feyre, what’s _wrong_.” 

What was wrong? She didn’t know, she was trying to find out. But her sisters— “Rhys,” she gasped. A look of horror crossed Elain’s face.

“Come on.” Nesta, while pale, didn’t falter. “You’ll be more comfortable on the couch.” She led her younger sister away from spilled tea and shards of porcelain.

The bond was there; she could feel it. Elain wrapped a blanket around her shivering body and held Feyre as she hovered around yanking on the bond. Something must have happened, but Rhys didn’t need her in his mind. He was there, he was alive. But if she distracted him that might change.

In the background, Nesta was ordering a servant who had come at the sound of the shattering cup  to send a message. Feyre turned to tell her it wasn’t necessary—she would know what happened one way or another from Rhys—but another wave of emotion cut her short. The last one had been dread, like the old wives’ tale of someone walking on your grave. This was panic and pain.

A choked sound escaped Feyre’s lips, and she bit down on her hand so she wouldn’t cry out. For any emotion to be hitting her like this meant that it was staggering. What was happening to Rhys?

Elain stroked her hair. “I’m not feeling anything from Lucien.”

It could mean a thousand things. The bond between Lucien and Elain was newer, and neither of them were daemati. Lucien was also commanding Day Court forces, far enough away from Rhysand that he may not know the High Lord was in danger.

Tentatively, Feyre reached for the bond again. She gasped when she felt Rhys there, his mind overwhelmingly present and sucking her in.

And then she was seeing through his eyes and feeling what he felt. Blood, dirt, the screams of dying men. The stench of the battlefield. Her body—his body—ached in a thousand different places and sweat collected under heavy armor.

_What are you doing here?_ Rhys was angry, faltering only a little as he swung his blade into an opponent’s neck.

Feyre worked to keep her reactions to herself, to minimize distraction. _You pulled me in._

Then before he could tell her to retreat or she could leave herself, she heard it. “Protect the heir! Protect the High Lord’s son!”

In that moment, she could feel all of Rhys’s emotions, and he could surely sense hers. She saw a cluster of warriors, a figure on the ground, before Rhysand shoved her out of his mind and silenced the bond.

She was back in the comfortable, silent sitting room. Elain was murmuring her name, rocking her gently while Nesta watched. “What happened?”

She had no words. For the rest of her life, the image would be seared into her brain. Was that her son, laying on the floor and surrounded by warriors? She couldn’t tell. Covered in filth, they all looked the same. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t summon the will to explain.

“Niphrym,” she eventually gasped. “My son.” He was hurt. Hurt enough that Rhysand had involuntarily called to her and let down his mental walls. Hurt enough that he lay on the ground, that he needed protecting. “ _My baby_.” Her voice broke and she clutched Elain, trying to find something to ground herself. A ragged sound, a pathetic echo of a sob, tore its way out of her mouth.  

Is this what parents went through when they sent their children to war? How could they stomach it, how would she ever justify sending men into battle after this?

“No,” she clung to Elain, trying to breath as her sisters crowded her. “Please, no.” She’d take gods from this world and others, the Mother, the Cauldron, and everything in between—whatever would answer her prayers. She tried to stagger up, to get to her weapons and fighting leathers, but Nesta and Elain held her down.

Minutes passed, and no news arrived. It was almost like the crushing moments when Rhys had died, when he’d been ripped apart from her. She had felt her soul tear apart then. She had been a shell, and couldn’t do anything but scream and cry and beg until he was brought back to her.

But if Niphrym was gone—if her son was torn from her—something would be taken from both her and Rhys. No amount of begging would bring him back. The High Lords weren’t all there to bestow a gift of life. Even if they were, no one would give such a gift to the son of a High Lord, not when there were other heirs.

Vesriel and Lysander—they didn’t know what was happening. Vesriel was upset, deemed too young to be sent to war. He was in the Illyrian camps, honing his skills and taking his frustration out on unsuspecting trainees. Lysander was at home, under the watchful eyes of his tutors and nanny.

Minutes or hours passed, and still nothing from Rhys. Feyre’s hysteria had calmed a bit, but she still leaned against Elain and took what comfort she could. Nesta glared out of a window, looking ready to take action despite having nothing to do. Feyre practically vibrated, wanting to winnow directly to the battlefield but knowing she couldn’t. If she went now, she’d disrupt the rhythm of battle. If she went now, she’d be unprepared. She’d be vulnerable. And she still had two other children and her court to think about.

_He’s okay._ Feyre jolted when Rhys’s voice finally reached her. _I’ll let you know more when I can._

_Tell me if—_

Rhys growled, an impatient sound. _Not now, Feyre._

She sighed as he left, but sat up straight. “He’s okay.” Nesta and Elain seemed to deflate with relief.

“When can you see them?” Nesta asked.

Feyre shook her head. “Rhys just told me that he’d let me know more when he could. The battle…it’s probably not even over.”

“Almost.” Elain spoke, faced scrunched up in concentration. “It…it’s almost done. I think we won but—” Her face paled, and that was enough of an answer.

Feyre took her turn in holding her sister. “You didn’t have to do that.” The bond between Elain and Lucien didn’t allow for the effortless communication that Feyre and Rhys had. To reach across miles and try to ascertain what was happening…Feyre didn’t envy the headache Elain must be having.

Nesta poured a cup of tea, handing it over to their sister. Elain took it gratefully, taking a small sip.

“I’m…” Feyre stood, needing to take action somehow. “I’m going to make sure I’m prepared to leave.”

She had no doubt that she’d be spending all of her time at Niphrym’s bedside, but she’d have to walk through the camp as High Lady. Depending on Niphrym’s condition, she might float around, visiting the bedsides of ailing soldiers and helping healers. She needed to look the part. A devastating black over coat went over the fighting leathers she donned, and she braided her hair out of the way.

_You can come now._ Rhys sent her a flurry of thoughts, telling her where to arrive. Feyre slipped on her boots and left the House of Wind, letting the bond pull her towards her destination.

The camp was an assault on the senses. The cries of wounded males and shouts for healers or supplies filled the air. The stench of blood, sweat, and filth hung heavy. A dreary gray sky threatened to unleash a storm on the army, and earlier rainfall had turned the ground muddy.

“Feyre.” She was greeted by Azriel, who looked dead on his feet.

“Where is he?” She strode up to him, but Azriel was already moving. Feyre almost struggled to keep pace with him. Belatedly, she remembered to ask about the battle. “How are you? How did we do?”

“Eris has control of most of the court now,” Azriel said. “Our full force should only be here for a few more weeks. There were many casualties…” He rattled off names of legions, where they were posted, how hard they were hit, who they were commanded by. A male giving information to his High Lady, not a friend.

When they got in sight of the command tent, Azriel slowed a fraction. “Niphrym will recover. Rhys…he wants to fill you in.” He nodded in the direction of the tent, and Feyre swooped in. The main area was empty, but she heard voices on the other side of the curtain that separated the bed.

Anxious, she swooped in, pausing for only a moment when she saw Niphrym lying on the bed. Somehow she managed to get to his bedside, sitting tentatively on the edge. Her son’s face was pale, and there were purple circles under his closed eyes. A dark bruise marred one cheek, but she couldn’t see the rest of his injuries from where they were covered by furs.

“My lady,” a healer called her attention. “He was shot by an arrow, a gap in his armor near his shoulder. And then stabbed above his hip.”

Feyre nodded, pulling back the blankets so she could see. Niphrym’s chest was splotched with more bruises. Ugly red, puckered skin marred his shoulder. Further down, a bandage still covered his abdomen.

“Leave us.”

She almost jumped. She hadn’t even noticed Rhys lurking in the corner.

The healer left without another word. Feyre busied herself with tucking the blankets around Niphrym, stroking his hair out of his face. It was getting so long. Maybe he’d grow it out like Cassian.

_Feyre._ Rhysand wouldn’t let her ignore him for long.

_Do I want to know what happened?_ She looked over her shoulder at him. He sighed, holding out a hand. She stood, letting him lead her away from the bed.

He stalled a little too, pouring wine for both of them before taking a seat. Feyre hesitated for a moment before curling up in his lap. The wine sat untouched on a table.

“I didn’t see it.” Rhys said after a minute of silence. “I put his unit right next to me…we were in the thick of the fighting but—” He broke off with a shuddering sigh.

Feyre reached up to run a soothing hand through his hair. Rhys leaned into her, resting his head on her shoulder. Slowly, he sent her memories of the fight. Like he said, they were in a spot where the fighting was the worst. An old commander—a remnant of Beron’s court—had mustered a strong force of warriors who had fought in the War. Rhys decided to confront him head-on and took Niphrym with him. He didn’t see Niphrym get shot, only the blade that sunk into his abdomen and ripped up.

“They were targeting him.” Rhys’ voice was a whisper. “It was—there were no bows on that battlefield, Feyre. The bow was brought to use against him. Someone deliberately distracted him—and me— so that they could get a lucky shot. It was planned.”

She shuddered, clutching Rhys a little closer. They let the bond ebb and flow between them, existing together in their minds and bodies. Feyre sent her mate all the comfort and reassurance she could. It wasn’t his fault. Their son was okay.

A broken cough startled both of them, and Feyre leaped up to go to Niphrym’s side.

His eyes slowly blinked open, and he groaned low. “Hi, Mama. What are you doing here?”

Feyre could only shake her head with a rueful smile and take his hand. Rhys sat on the other side of the bed, relief painted on every inch of his body.

When he saw the tears gathering in his mother’s eyes, Niphrym frowned. “I’m all right, Mama.”

“No, you’re not,” Feyre laughed sardonically. Joy bubbled up within her just hearing his voice and seeing his smile, but dread lingered. “That was too close.”

Niphrym nodded. “I suppose I’ll be sent home?” He directed the question to Rhys.

“As soon as we get permission to winnow you,” he said. “The war is over anyway. Unfortunately, you’ll miss the most fun part.”

“Ah, yes,” Niphrym drawled. “I am so distraught that I cannot sit in on negotiations.”

Despite the lingering tears in her eyes, Feyre smiled. If he was joking already, Niphrym would be okay. “Do you need anything? Some water?”

“Don’t fuss over me, Mama.” Niphrym squeezed her hand. “I get to lay down in this comfortable bed. Go help people who really need it.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, then resettled herself so she was laying down next to him. “You’re my baby, and I’m going to stay with you as long as I please.” She planted an obnoxious kiss to his head, ignoring his good-natured grumbling. “Also, you need to cut your hair.”

“ _Mama.”_

“She’s right.” Rhysand flopped down on the other side of Niphrym, barely squeezing in. “You’ll always be our little bat.”

“Mother save me.”

As if on cue, someone entered the tent in a flurry. “Where is he?! I’m going to rip his spine out—!” Addy rounded the partition, halting when she saw the family. Her jaw worked for a second, trying to come up with the words. Finally, she settled on, “You started cuddle time without me?”

“We could probably squeeze you in,” Rhysand said. “But I do need to be going. Have you handed in your reports yet?”

Addy snapped to attention as her High Lord stood, refastening the bits of armor he had discarded. “I reported directly to my father. And I was to inform you that the war council is going to convene in an hour.”

“We need to decide who to send home,” Rhys sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Addy, I want you by me in this meeting.”

“Not with my father?” Addy cast a nervous look towards Niphrym. 

Rhys stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll all be there, but yes. I want you by my side as we wrap up this war. Niphrym has enough experience.”

Feyre shot a quick glance at Niphrym. Both children had learned more in the past few months than in the years they had been training. It would be beneficial for Niphrym to be a part of these meetings, but he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. And it was looking like—in the distant future—Addy would be Niphrym’s second in command. She would have to know these things and be able to take the reins when her High Lord could not.

A small frown appeared on her son’s face, but he nodded in agreement. “It’s a boring job anyway, Addy. Report back to me how many times you almost fell asleep.”

The frantic glancing from her High Lord to her cousin to her High Lady didn’t cease. Feyre felt a stab of pity. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I’ll do whatever my High Lord requires of me,” Addy said. “But I…”

Standing, Feyre rounded the bed to take Addy’s hands in her own. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Addy’s back straightened, but no one was convinced. “Um, I’ll tell you later.”

“Later then.” Feyre kissed Addy’s forehead. “I’ll stay here for the rest of the day and winnow back anyone who can make the journey. Tomorrow morning, I can return with whatever resources you need. I assume Azriel has already sent an account of the battle?”

“Or will do so soon,” Rhys said. He glanced at Niphrym once more, reaching down to take his hand. “Recover quickly."

“I will.”

“Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“I know.”

“That includes going flying too soon.”

“…I’ll try.”

Rhys cracked a grin. “That’s my boy.” Then he turned to Addy, nodding his head once and then departing. Addy darted over to kiss Niphrym’s cheek quickly, whisper something in his ear, and then jogged after Rhys.

“Get some rest,” Feyre said, dragging over a chair to sit by Niphrym’s bedside. “The more you sleep, the faster you’ll heal.”

Niphrym closed his eyes, sighed deep through his nose. His arms lay limp by his sides. “How worried were you?”

An echo of a memory flickered in her mind. “Very. But you’ll be all right.”

He had to be. Because although Feyre had two other sons, Niphrym was the one who showed the signs of being the High Lord’s heir. He was already a steady presence, a glue that kept them together. As smart as his mother and as witty at his father, Niphrym possessed the best of the High Lord and Lady. His presence was understated though, and he had no desire to shine like his mother or dominate a room like his father. Niphrym appreciated making people laugh, but he didn’t demand the same attention as Feyre and Rhys. Which was a good thing, because the last thing her first-born needed was another target on his back.

So young, and already her son was integral to keeping balance in the Night Court. They would endure if he was gone, but that balance would be thrown off-kilter.

“Sleep,” Feyre said again, leaning forward to kiss his brow. “I’ll be here when you wake up and help you clean and redress the wound, then I have to get back home.”

“Before you go,” Niphrym began tentatively. “Did Father tell you about my questions?”

Feyre immediately knew what Niphrym was referring to. And she knew he would get no peace—which meant she wouldn’t either—until his curiosity was satisfied. Settling in, Feyre prepared for the inquisition. “What do you want to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls.
> 
> for the love of all that is sacred
> 
> leave a review
> 
> and tell me where i made a typo


	15. silent nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im just very tired okay

Submerged under water, Feyre’s senses were dulled. She could only hear the roar of blood in her ears. Floating as she was—for as long as she had been—she became detached from her body. Her senses were dulled and her mind felt cloudy too, on the cusp of unconsciousness.

Cauldron, it was _blissful_.

She was surrounded by the peaceful warmth, completely at ease. A small bit of her power from the Summer Court created an air pocket, ensuring she would always have a supply of fresh air. But other than that, Feyre could have fallen asleep there.

Was this how the child in her womb felt? Encased in comfort, safe, protected? She surely hoped so. Over the past few months, she had put in more than enough effort.

Baths like this were some of the only times she got some rest nowadays. If it wasn’t one obnoxious pregnancy symptom, it was another. Feyre had known on some level that having a child wouldn’t be easy, but no one had told her it would be _this much_ of a challenge. Though, to be fair, no one had really known how difficult it would get.

The child would be born any day now, and Feyre was feeling the strain. Her ankles constantly felt like they were on fire, and the rest of her body ached too. She ate fairly bland, easily digestible foods. Her stomach was unable to tolerate anything else, though she had an outrageous sweet tooth. The odd cravings had subsided a couple of weeks ago, but their inconvenience was replaced by others. Lately, an errant breeze hitting her just wrong would make her irrationally angry. The wrong amount of sugar in her tea or a piece of cloth that wouldn’t sit right brought frustrated tears to her eyes. A bone-deep weariness made her want to sleep at all hours of the day, but she couldn’t actually ever _rest_. Discomfort prevented it, until she was so tired she passed out on whatever flat surface was available. Not to mention, the baby was still incredibly active.

But…only a few more days. At most. The child’s movements had slowed as they ran out of room. Feyre could still feel them making little flutters and twists under her skin, but the punches and kicks were gone. Good riddance. The babe had targeted all her delicate organs and seemed keen on wreaking havoc on them. She was done with the pressure on her bladder, kicks to her lungs, and punches to her kidneys. Cassian had called the baby a “little Illyrian warrior” on one of her worse days, and Feyre had very nearly set her sister’s husband on fire.

But with luck, the bath would calm both her and the baby. Feyre allowed herself to relish in the warmth for another moment before rising. The murky bath had been prepared with Nuala and Cerridwen, who had added tonics and just enough scents to be relaxing, but not irritating. They had also set out her comfortable light nightgown, along with a magically warmed plush robe and slippers.

Feyre would have to convince Rhys to give them a raise. Though they had been trained as spies—and were damn good at it—the twins had elected to take a break. Grateful was too small a word to express Feyre’s gratitude, for without them, she wasn’t sure she could have gotten through this ordeal.

Gingerly, she pushed herself up to sit on the lip of the tub. Pausing for a moment to gain her balance, she looked out the window. Rhys had business in the Court of Nightmares but was loathe to be far from her. They had both traveled to their residence above the Hewn City, though Feyre had stayed in their rooms. Traveling outside Velaris was one thing. Traveling to the Court of Nightmares was completely out of the question. With only Nuala and Cerridwen for company, the day had been blissfully quiet and peaceful. Feyre adored their home in Velaris but had been getting close to screaming at the next poor child who laughed too loud outside.

At this time of year, snow still covered much of the mountains. In Velaris, the days would be cool, the nights a little colder. It reminded her of the first time she had come here, had bathed right in this room. Feyre was so different now. If you had told the broken woman who arrived that her captor would be her mate—the father to her child no less— she would have likely punched you.

Feyre smiled a little at the memories, carefully swinging her legs around and maneuvering out of the bath. One thought from her, one word in a slightly raised voice, and she’d have all the help she needed at her beck and call. But this wasn’t a time for outsiders. It was just her and the baby.

She carefully dried off, then pulled on her underwear and the robe. It stayed untied, however, as she walked over to a vanity. Or waddled. Rhys said she waddled, but Feyre liked to pretend she was still a little graceful. At least enough not to _waddle_.

Sitting down on the bench in front of the vanity was more relieving than Feyre liked. She didn’t always feel comfortable in this body that had made room for one more. It was a cumbersome thing, off-balance and malfunctioning. But it was growing her child, so some allowances had to be made.

Feyre absentmindedly rubbed a hand on her stomach. The baby had calmed in the water, but now was squirming again. She started humming, hoping the sound might travel through her body and to the baby. She couldn’t tell what they were thinking, couldn’t probe with her power. In fact, her power had worked against her, shielding and cradling the life within from the moment it was conceived. The more the baby grew, the more it siphoned away, leaving Feyre feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. Yet another way her body was rebelling against her. But she’d rather have the baby protected at all times than not.

Sometimes though, she did wish she could peak into their mind and ask if they could, maybe, settle down for a moment, because mama is trying to rest. Alas, she’d have to resort to other tactics. Feyre reached out, a hand flitting over bottles and cases and little jars. Vials of oil and pots of lotion waited for her.

Some peppermint oil to soothe a headache that would no doubt form later tonight? Maybe some chamomile, to calm her hot blood. Her fingers danced over the bottles, but she finally settled on the lavender lotion. She was trying to put the baby to sleep, and this would be the most effective.

Continuing the humming, Feyre rubbed a bit of the lotion on her stomach. It was intended to have the effect of calming the child, but it also soothed her stretched and abused skin. Slowly, the itch faded. The baby calmed. Movement slowed, then stopped.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Feyre finished rubbing in the lotion. Hopefully, the baby would be that easy to put to sleep when it was born.

“How are you feeling, darling?”

Oh, she was going to _kill_ him. Feyre snarled, whipping around and hissing at her mate. “Get out!”

“What?” Rhys paused from where he had been walking towards her, eyes wide. His hands came halfway up, a gesture of innocence.

She had no patience for him. “Out!” She punctuated her command with a pointed finger. Rhys wasted no time in backing away.

Sighing, Feyre looked down at her stomach. Upon hearing Rhys’s voice, the baby had woken up. And they were now very excited.

Suppressing a groan, Feyre started her routine over again. After dabbing a little peppermint oil on her temples.

When the baby was asleep again, she called to Rhys. _Do not talk. If the baby hears you again, none of us are going to sleep tonight._

Rhys emerged from where he had been lurking in the doorway, silently helping Feyre stand and dress.

_The visit went fine,_ he informed her, knowing she’d ask. _Nothing to worry about. I warned them this would be my last personal visit for a while. Left them a little terrified._

_Good._ Feyre sat still as Rhys ran a comb through her damp hair and then braided it.

He worked quickly. _There’s a treat waiting for you at home, and then sleep._

Content, Feyre allowed her eyes to drift closed as Rhys tied off the loose braid. She stood at his urging, then felt his arms wrap around her in preparation to winnow. Technically, winnowing wasn’t complicated at all by the baby. But Rhys still took extra care.

He brought them right to their bedroom, lit only by the fading evening light. A window was open to air out the room, but Rhys shut it as Feyre sat on the bed. He opened his mouth to say something, then remembered her warning. Instead, he hurried over and arranged the pillows around her body.

_What’s this?_ Feyre leaned back, amused, as Rhys elevated her feet. She was cradled in soft down, relieved to be laying back.

_I promised you a treat._ Rhys kissed her quickly then waved a hand, and a tray appeared on the night stand.

Although the smallest things made Feyre irrationally upset, they could also make her joyful. She refrained from squealing as she took in the small meal Rhys brought her. A fruit tart rested on the plate, looking like the most sumptuous dish ever created. She had been craving the flaky crust, the rich custard, the fresh fruits, and just the slightest bit of chocolate all day. Apparently, Rhys had honed in on her desires. Next to the plate, there was a mug of warm milk, flavored with honey, cardamom, and cinnamon. A pitcher of water and a glass reminded her of Rhys’s obsession over making sure she was hydrated and healthy.

_I love you._ Feyre leaned forward as much as she could, reaching out one hand to drag her mate closer to kiss her. Rhys grinned, gladly obliging. He supported her with one hand, gently urging her to lay back and relax. Kisses trailed down her body, lingering a little on her stomach.

Feyre very nearly burst into tears when Rhys picked up one foot and carefully started kneading it. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let herself actually indulge in this moment. Beyond words, it was all she could do to throw her mess of feelings down their mating bond. They probably didn’t make sense, but Rhys’s warm glow of amusement let her know he was receiving at least some of the emotion she wanted to convey.

_Are you going to eat?_

Rhys’s teasing reminded her of the food waiting and the empty feeling in her stomach. Feyre snatched the plate and balanced it on her stomach, picking up the fruit tart whole and taking a bite. She could feel the considerable effort by Rhys not to laugh but could hardly care. Cauldron, she didn’t think she was so hungry, but now that there was food in front of her…

The food and drink quickly disappeared, and Feyre allowed herself to fall back into the pillows. She probably fell asleep, but Rhys continued his ministrations. She felt him working on her calves when she woke again. _Help me up?_

_What do you need?_ Rhys asked, ready to get up to retrieve what she wanted, or to snap his fingers and bring it directly to his hands.

_The bathroom._ Feyre rolled her eyes. He helped her up, but she blocked him from escorting her all the way to the toilet. She wasn’t at the point where she needed his help peeing just yet, though she could feel him hovering like an anxious child. When she emerged, he helped her back onto the bed and arranged the pillows so she could comfortably lay on her side.

_Are you okay? Would you like something supporting your back?_ Rhys hovered, hands fluttering a little frantically.

_Yes,_ Feyre squeezed his hand, _I want you. But first, I want you to bathe and eat._

_I’m fine,_ Rhys responded immediately.

Feyre frowned. _The baby is going to be here any day. And it’s going to be hard. You being tired will only make it harder. I need you Rhys, and I need you to be at your best. We both do._ To punctuate her point, Feyre ran a hand over stomach.

Rhys’s jaw worked as he glanced between her and where her hand lay. _Have I been worrying you?_

_No,_ Feyre reassured him _. But there’s no need to start now, hmm?_ She let a sigh of relief escape her lips when Rhys nodded and walked to the bathroom. He puttered around the house for a while, finished work, tidying up, and grabbing something to eat. Feyre thought she’d be happy laying on her side, relaxed and ready to sleep, until an ache in her lower back bloomed. She wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable. Then she carefully stood, pacing around the room. Rhys walked in when her hands were on the wall, arched a little to try and stretch.

_Just my back._ She reassured him.

_Lay down,_ He ushered her back to the bed, settling in beside her and setting his hands to work on her lower back. _Better?_

_A little._ Feyre sighed. Slowly, the ache faded a little. It persisted, but it was enough to let Feyre finally rest. She was used to the discomfort by now. Rhys did what he could, but even his ministrations that night didn’t erase the pain in her ankles, the roiling of her stomach, the ache in her back, the dull cramp in her abdomen—

The cramp in her abdomen?

_Darling?_

_Nothing_. Feyre melted against Rhys’s body. _Thank you._

_Always._ Rhys kissed her shoulder, shuffling a little closer on the bed. Feyre sighed as her mate’s arms wound around her, determined to enjoy this peaceful night. She had a feeling it would be the last one for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill. review, tell me where the typos are. Vesriel's story is happening, I'm just too busy to think.


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